Born Under a Bad Sign
by ShinyAerox1991
Summary: AU! Meet Chuck Bartowski. He's the revered Nerd Herd supervisor, a loving brother and a loyal friend. Oh, and he's also a sociopath hell-bent on avenging his mother's deathby putting all who had orchestrated her demise, six feet under. Eventually Charah!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** It's here, the brainchild of **ShinyJayne19**, who graciously allowed me (**Aerox) **to co-author this story with her. Thus, a separate account dubbed **ShinyAerox1991 **was born. Get it? It's been a blast writing this first chapter, and it shows due to the fact that we've managed to plump down over 9000 (yes) words! While we are both novices in the whole 'co-authoring a story' thing, we've managed to find a way that we feel, compliments both our styles of writing. We hope that you enjoy this story and join us for the wild ride through Chuxter! (Yes, that is a new term we made up)

**Disclaimer: **Don't own Chuck or Dexter. If we did, we would've been writing for the show or sipping on a drink with a funny umbrella in it somewhere on a warm island.

**Note: **While this is a Chuck/Dexter story, the main fandom will be Chuck. The universe will be Chuck, the characters will be Chuck etc. That's why this doesn't go in the crossover section but in the Chuck section.

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><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>

_Tonight's the night._

Chuck heaved what could've been a miserable sigh. Despite his best efforts, it was going to happen again and again. It was like a vicious circle. Continuously in motion, never ceasing until his own life came to an abrupt end. This of course, was up to the fates to decide. Something he couldn't control. And he liked to be in control. _Always._ But try as he might, some things were just unavoidable. Uncontrollable. Relentless.

He grabbed the doorknob that separated him from the inevitable. There was no uncertainty of what lingered on the other side. For a few moments, he even contemplated the idea of going through with it or not. He had better places to be. His gaze floated towards the sky, becoming fixed with the darkness while he kept his hand fastened on the cold, bronze knob. There was that moon again; slung so fat and low in the wake of another autumn night. A cool breeze shot through the courtyard, teasing and molesting his mop of unruly curls. When it passed, only the soft gurgling of the fountain remained distinct among the wavering silence. His bangs fell messily on top of his forehead again, obscuring the hungry gleam in his eyes that soon was replaced with a look of longing, then finally, reluctant acceptance.

Moonlight filtered below, enveloping Chuck with its soft luminescent glow. A choir of voices urged him to forget what lay behind the door. Their awful suggestions normally were enough to penetrate his dark heart and break any resolve. But their hushed whispers weren't enough tonight. He had _other _things to take care of. Soon, though. Patience was a virtue. All that was asked of him was to be civil, and to refrain from killing himself in boredom…

_Easier said than done, _Chuck closed his eyes and twisted the knob. The door swung wide open, and he was met by a darkened room. Taking a cautious step forward, he mentally prepared himself for the onslaught.

There was a bright, near blinding flash. The lights turned on and illuminated the entire apartment, revealing to Chuck a crowd of unfamiliar people who had leapt out from their terrible hiding spaces and into view.

His poor eardrums almost succumb to deafness the instant they collectively yelled "SURPRISE!"

_Twenty-Six and they're still throwing me surprise birthday parties. _At this, Chuck inwardly rolled his eyes. Of course outwardly, he appeared to be genuinely shocked. This was when the nameless strangers proceeded to swarm around him. He put on his best smile. This performance had to be worthy of an Oscar.

"Whoa, Sis," he exclaimed. "I totally didn't see this coming!"

Ellie was absolutely delighted by his reaction. And why shouldn't she be? It was a near perfect rendition of the normal human response. Chuck maintained the jubilant façade as his older sister parted from Devon (her awesome boyfriend) and waded through the swarm of guests. Once they were mere inches apart, she enveloped him with a bone-crushing hug. It almost squeezed every wisp of oxygen from Chuck's lungs.

She pulled back, cupping his face with both hands. "Happy Birthday, little brother."

"I really don't think that twenty-six constitutes as being 'little' anymore, does it, El?" asked Chuck wryly. "I am a lot closer to thirty than I am to twenty…"

Ellie shook her head, giving him a slight tap on his cheek. He mock winced while she beamed. "You'll always be my little brother, Chuck. Now, would you please take a load off and _try_ to relax? It shouldn't be too hard to have a good time."

Before Chuck could think of a witty rejoinder, Ellie dropped her voice and whispered. "I've invited some female friends—actual girls, ok? Maybe, it's time to finally get over Jill?"

Chuck saw a new look cross his sister's face, and immediately registered it as hopefulness. So instead of pursuing the topic, he merely nodded. Jill Roberts was a pretty sensitive subject with Ellie. While he honestly could care less about what happened between him and his old Stanford flame, Ellie was another story altogether. She was heartbroken. Odd, since that role should've been handed to him, the grieving victim of unimaginable betrayal. He _had _been the one who found his roommate in bed with his then-girlfriend. How was he supposed to respond to something like that anyway? What an unfortunate mess. He initially was going to let it go, c'est la vie. But after the fiery reaction he'd received from Ellie, he found it prudent to play the sad boyfriend card. And he'd been sticking to that part for nearly five years.

"Thanks, El," said Chuck appreciatively. "This is just what I needed. I've had a horrible day."

Quite to the contrary, this was most certainly _not _what he needed. What he did need however, was to get to the Herder parked just outside of the apartment complex, taking a quick detour to Encino. Then he'd be just a hop, skip and a jump away from having some long-awaited private time alone with one Jacob Williamson. Still, Chuck kept quiet. His sister earned him on his nicest behavior. She deserved it. Ellie was one of the few people who managed to get through to him in ways no one else could. She had this inherent charm that could penetrate through his perfectly constructed guise. Her ability to make him genuinely smile was just an example of her questionable otherworldly influence on him. No conscious effort necessary. Sometimes it even made him believe that he was remotely human and capable of feeling emotion and empathy. Those kinds of things. Ellie kept that hope alive. However slim the chances were at recovering that version of himself, lost so long ago. After what happened in Moscow…

As Chuck felt like he was about to tread close to the darker recesses of his mind, Ellie snapped him to the present. Her hand touching his shoulder, she motioned him towards the couch. He graciously took a seat. Now was the time to suffer through the annual routine that was the post-Jill era. He sort of missed her. Not because he felt any sort of _real _affection or what have you. That would be insanity. It was what she had offered relationship-wise; the perfect beard. Without Jill to guarantee an impervious cover, it left Chuck vulnerable to his sister's compulsive need play matchmaker. He wouldn't dare stop Ellie in her lifelong pursuit to finding him eternal happiness. She was a force to be reckoned with. And since Chuck knew a thing or two about impulsiveness and cravings, he relented to her wishes.

"Hey, did you hurt yourself?" A voice asked suddenly. Chuck blinked and watched as a woman—definitely one of Ellie's friends, took a seat beside him on the couch. He shifted uncomfortably while she continued, "I'm a doctor, so maybe I could check you out sometime?" Chuck shrugged, letting his mind travel to a little over a week ago. He fondly remembered the way his last victim had struggled and thrashed, wildly flailing his arms as he'd pull the rope tight, without any restraint. Stupidly, he had forgotten to wear any protective gloves and thus received a nasty rope burn. But it was all worth it in the end. Just to feel his plaything's body go limp indefinitely.

_Yeah, like I can tell her that.  
><em>

"Nope, I just had a really wild night on Call of Duty. My best friend, Morgan and I had teamed up and totally destroyed these guys from Large Mart. They had been bad mouthing us for awhile, so we took them on in a two-versus-two. They had no chance," he finished brightly. The girl frowned and he added, "Can I get you a drink or something?"

"Uh, no that's ok. I'm just going to go over….there," she said and excused herself in a hurry.

"Ok, have fun!" Chuck shouted cheerfully. When she got up and mingled with the crowd, he leaned into the couch's cushions and shut his eyes.

_And the award for the most convincing, gracious birthday boy goes to—_

Suddenly, his internal congratulatory monologue had been cut drastically short when he felt the couch shift again. His brows knitted into mild annoyance but he kept composed.

_I guess it's time for round two. _

Chuck plastered a fake smile and reopened his eyes. "Hey—oh hi, Morgan."

Morgan grinned before taking a sip from his grape soda. "Hey man, how are you?"

"More stressed than usual…"

"Well," Morgan paused briefly. "Have you…you know? Done your _business _yet?"

Chuck snorted. _What am I, some kind of animal? _"Not yet, Ellie had been texting me nonstop about getting home ASAP. It was the classic set-up. So of course, I had to comply." After a beat, he finished. "He's still in the trunk."

Morgan's eyes widened. "I hear ya, about Ellie I mean. Not about…well, you know. She can be intense."

"You have no idea."

"Well, if you're in any sort of trouble, or pressed for time, I can always cover for you. We could pull a Buy More Code Purple?" he suggested.

"That'll be worst case scenario, but good thinking, buddy," said Chuck. He didn't feel like it was necessary to impose Code Purple. Not yet anyway. There was still plenty of time until the sedative wore off. "I'll just play the good birthday boy for a couple more minutes though."

"Alright dude, just let me know if plans change. I'll be ready."

Chuck smiled. "Thanks Morgan, I owe you."

Morgan shook his head and looked at Chuck with a serious expression on his face. "No you don't. I owe you my life."

Chuck patted the smaller man on the shoulder. Morgan Guillermo Grimes was a great friend; the best really. He was probably the only person other than Ellie whom he could talk to without having to rely on gimmicks to appear socially acceptable. They had been close, brotherly almost, way before the events of Moscow. Even after Chuck returned as a husk of his former self, their bond remained the same. If anything, it had been reinforced. Stronger. Unbreakable. Chuck had taken a leap of faith with Morgan. He confided in him. He told him _everything _and was certain that Morgan would bolt. Call him a freak. Do something. The last thing Chuck had expected was his best friend to stay, and then to even help when the darkness eventually would overpower him time and again. Loyalty was held in high regard, even for a monster like him.

Monster.

That's exactly what he was.

_The first step is at least admitting that you have a problem._

Although saying he had a 'problem' barely scratched the surface of what the many horrors he had to endure, entailed. There was a time long ago where he was just a pseudo-normal kid. Because even then, Chuck knew that Bartowskis weren't exactly the archetypal family you'd see on an After School Special. They were unorthodox, but whole nonetheless. The wholeness of their nuclear family shattered during one unfortunate episode, and in turn, the misfortunes continued when little Chuck suffered a greater loss. What was left of that boy was currently sitting on the couch.

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><p>It was sometime in October. Chuck remembered that the neighborhood had already begun decorating for Halloween. The houses had been covered in fake cobwebs, adorned with various other creepy ornaments, along with the standard pumpkin that sat at the foot of each doorstep. Gone was the summer of 1990, its blazing heat replaced by a welcomed chill. The trees had undergone their annual transformation; yellow, orange and brown leaves littered the sidewalks. That Friday afternoon, a nine year old Chuck Bartowski was released from school. He had busied himself by kicking piles of leaves while waiting for his mom to pick him up. Morgan had bid farewell several minutes earlier, waving clumsily as he peddled his bike down the deserted street and out of sight.<p>

Once the campus was almost entirely vacant, Chuck had begun to worry that his mom forgot about him. Maybe she had gone on another business trip? Dad had been cooped up in his office, always at work. Chuck hadn't felt like troubling him for a ride home. He had considered going inside the school's administration building until somebody would come. Or he'd wait for the bus.

He'd find a way home somehow.

Ten minutes had passed uneventfully. Still no one had come for Chuck. That was until a sleek black van had driven inside the parking lot, rolling up to the curb where Chuck had stood. A strange feeling had overtaken him and he took a retreating step backwards whilst scanning the immediate area for an adult or a student. _Someone. _There had been no one. It was kind of eerie. Like this had been the plan all along. Deeply unnerved, Chuck had almost broken into a sprint the instant the van's doors slid ajar. Who knew what was going to pop out of it? Ghouls, vampires and werewolves all had come to mind. Needles to say, Chuck didn't want to find out. Shifting a backpack that was too large for his wiry frame, he had turned on his heel and ran.

He didn't make it far.

A large hand had grabbed him roughly by the collar. Chuck's first reaction had been to struggle, thrash around like his life depended on it. He had tossed elbows and screamed until a rag was placed over his mouth, muffling further protests. Chuck had made the mistake of inhaling; the sweet smelling chemicals making his eyes grow heavy. His vision soon had blurred before he finally succumbed to unconsciousness.

Chuck had awoken sometime later. The unfathomable cold had startled him back to life. He had found himself trapped in a cramped space. It wasn't until he had spotted a giant beast of a man obscured in the shadows that Chuck was hit with a splitting headache. A series of weird images assaulted his brain, emphasizing to him that this was a really, _really_ bad man. Yuri the Gobbler; warrant extreme caution.

The giant cannibal (Chuck had always wanted to meet a cannibal, but not like this) initially had tried being pleasant. Chuck however, wouldn't trust anybody that enjoyed human flesh as a kind of delicacy, and had cowered into the farthest corner of the cell. His mother had always admonished him to not talk to strangers and Chuck felt that if said strangers were fond of eating other human beings he should definitely not try and engage _it_ in idle chatter. The Gobbler eventually had left and an older looking man took his place. He had surprised Chuck by being kind and polite. He even played several rounds of 'Go Fish" with him. Just when Chuck had begun to feel comfortable and less fearful, the pleasantries ended with a hail of gunfire. The nice man had fled; replaced by a handful of armed guards blockading the cell. There had been no match however, for when his mother stormed inside like a woman possessed. He had marveled while the bad men fell like dominos. His mom was so…cool.

Mary Bartowski had taken out the opposition while hardly breaking a sweat. She had holstered her gun when making contact with Chuck. Rushing towards him, she had wrenched the cell open. She had crouched to her knees and beckoned for her son to come:

"It's alright sweetheart, everything's going to be ok. It's over."

Chuck had cried out her name, "Mommy!" before launching himself right into her loving arms. Mary had held onto him tightly, stroking his head while she consoled him. Their reunion had brought joyous tears to both mother and son. It wasn't until Mary had whispered "Let's go home," that Chuck's world came crashing down.

There had been a single shot. Then a slick, hot substance splattered onto his face. Chuck could still recall the look of terror shining in the depths of his ever widening doe eyes. He instinctively pulled out from his mother's limp embrace only to find a large gaping hole replacing much of her forehead. Chuck had tried to scream but his throat swelled shut. Mary had continued to stare at him with that same loving gaze, then crumpling forward with her hand still resting on the nape of his neck.

The absence of sound had been deafening. Only the sickening _drip drip _of his mother's oozing wound hitting the hard floor disrupted the silence. It had echoed in the expanse of the cell, creating a pool of blood in which Chuck sat motionlessly. Tears were silently streaming down his ashen face as he glared at his mother's killer. The giant had merely smiled and said nothing. He then had turned his back on the boy, confirming to whoever was on the receiving end of the walkie talkie that Frost had been dealt with.

Days had passed with Chuck making no attempt to leave his mother's side. It felt like an eternity (though in actuality, it had been forty-eight hours) had passed before he saw any change. The stench of the decomposing bodies had been overpowering, putrid and toxic to the senses, and the cold bit relentlessly. Chuck had endured the harsh conditions until his miraculous rescue. He'd been in a daze when an alarm began wailing, startling him from a near catatonic state. While he should've been ecstatic that his dad had come to save him, it'd been too late for him. He had stared unblinkingly as Stephen found him amongst the dead. His heart encased by black ice, and eyes vacant.

Empty.

Stephen had separated Chuck from Mary gingerly, Chuck's hand still linked with hers. He'd made sure to remove the charm bracelet that had adorned his wife's paling arm and slid it around Chuck's wrist for safekeeping. He then had collected his son into his arms and escaped the base while the EMP he'd deployed still had security offline. For the entire time, Chuck had been unusually despondent; his mother's blood still clinging to his face like a second skin. His eyes were bloodshot but dry as a bone. He had remained unresponsive for the entire flight home from Moscow. Stephen had spent countless of those hours trying to reconcile that his son was gone, just like Mary. What had replaced him was something yet to be determined.

The night they returned home was the first time Chuck had ever seen his father cry.

The Bartowskis hadn't been the same since then. Ellie had noticed a drastic change in her baby brother. She'd been devastated by her mother's death, and like Chuck, she'd undergone a transformation. Hers had yielded positive results; turning the twelve year old into the independent woman she'd soon grow to be. Chuck had figured that it was because of the Moscow incident that pushed Ellie into a career in Neurology. In the medical field she had the opportunity to save people daily. She also promised to focus on a way to "fix" Chuck. He'd been glad that at least some good came out of such a bad predicament.

The years had dragged on with the family still left in shambles. Mary's death had taken a serious toll on everyone. It had driven Stephen to drink and cut himself off completely from reality. He'd spend most of his time locked in his office. Ellie had taken her mother's role, forcing her to grow up at an alarming rate. Meanwhile Chuck had by far suffered the worst.

It began with solidarity. He'd barely speak and kept to himself. His reclusiveness had been mistaken for a coping mechanism. What derived from this strange behavior was senseless aggression. Chuck's quite nature had been replaced with violent burst of rage that used to be so unlike him. By age eleven, he'd frequently get into fights, mostly in defense of Morgan who had a habit of being bullied relentlessly by the older kids. Stephen again had confused his son's troublesome attitude with something that could be remedied. He had put Chuck in a Jujitsu class with the hope it'd act as a cathartic release for his pent of anger. Chuck had unsurprisingly stormed through the ranks, earning his black belt in record time. His sensei had voiced his concerns to Stephen after his son mastered the art of Jujitsu at thirteen. While Chuck had been a star pupil, he'd been confident borderline cocky, turning decidedly vicious at a moment's notice. This had been enough to withdraw him from taking any more martial arts.

It had gotten much worse when Chuck seemingly lost compassion and a sense of empathy for people. The only select few he had remotely cared for were Ellie, Morgan and Stephen. The human condition, his need to connect with others had fallen by the wayside. Other needs had begun to surface. Strange urges. Dinnertime often had consisted in him flipping his steak knife into random objects. Tables, food, cutting boards, even his leg once by accident…

Though the pain was all he'd ever feel. It had at least proved that deep down he was still very much alive. And as the blood would continually seep from his open wound, rather than crying or shouting for help, he'd stare at it—mesmerized. The warm crimson spot had blossomed and _drip dripped _like his mother's had on the day she had died. Chuck would not be able to erase the images from his mind. They'd remain and fester in that addled brain if his. Till the urges would eventually grow to where it consumed him entirely.

He had killed their dog, Peaches two days later.

Ellie had been sick with the flu and complained about their tiny Cocker Spaniel yapping to where she couldn't sleep. Peaches had begun acting odd ever since Chuck returned from Moscow. It was said that dogs had a sort of sixth sense for sniffing out evil. That evil in question was Chuck of course. Man's best friend was a title exclusive to man only. Not to monsters like him. And Peaches had been such a good companion. But that had been before his master's soul became one that was simply hypothetical. A quick slash of a kitchen knife had been all it took for young Chuck to silence the pup and give his sister her much deserved rest.

As he'd revel in the blood as it flowed so freely, giving a brilliant shine to his small hands, there came a sound that broke his fixation with the blade dyed crimson red. It was a loud gasp and then the shattering of something else hitting the tile floor. Chuck had seen his father in the knife's reflection. He'd turn around and prepare for a scolding; one that in all honesty felt unwarranted.

But there would be no reprimanding. Stephen had wordlessly guided Chuck away from the dog and the blood, motioning him to his bedroom while he'd clean up the mess. After he'd buried Peaches in the backyard, Stephen returned to where he finally confronted his little monster. He had set the pretense that if Ellie ever asked, Peaches had run away. While Chuck nodded like he fully understood, his expression gave off an air of wariness.

He had asked curiously, "Are you mad at me?"

Stephen had shaken his head, responding in a gentle voice. "No, Charles, I'm not mad. This wasn't your fault."

Chuck had trouble believing him. Even though he couldn't feel remorse for killing the family dog, he still had some semblance of morality. He knew right from wrong, but was indifferent to it. Why would his dad let him slide?

The point of no return had come when Morgan lost his lunch money to a bigger kid who'd been constantly antagonizing him. Chuck had watched his best friend being shoved into the lockers repeatedly until he dropped the measly few dollars. When the first drop of blood had erupted from a gash on Morgan's temple—that _drip drip_—Chuck felt something stir inside of him. Like a snake coiled, ready to strike. He calmly approached the bully who immediately lunged forward to attack him as well. Chuck had quickly sidestepped the boy and grabbed the protruding arm; twisting it at an awkward angle till there was a sickening crack, followed by a terrible wail.

Chuck was then sent straight to the principal's office, forced to wait for his father to collect him. He hadn't resisted, but instead complied with an unapologetic smile. That snake occupying the empty shell that was now Chuck Bartowski had been thoroughly pleased. It had slithered under his skin eliciting shivers of delight. Then it went silent once more. Chuck had wondered if his father would let him slide again.

After Stephen had sat through another meaningless conference with the school principal, he took his "delinquent" son home. During the car ride, he'd ask Chuck about the fight.

"Do you understand what you did wrong, Chuck?"

Staring absently out of the window, his twelve year old had simply shrugged. "Yeah, fighting is wrong."

"Right, but do you feel bad for breaking that boy's arm?"

"No."

"What about Peaches? Don't you miss him at all?"

He'd shake his head. "No."

_Drip drip. _What Chuck _did _miss was his mom.

Stephen had pulled the 1969 Mustang to the front driveway. With a sigh, he looked to his son. "Charles…you're special."

"You mean I'm a freak?"

"No son." There'd been another sigh. "I've been neglecting this for awhile now, hoping it was just a phase. But it's not. I want to help you the best way I can, Charles. So I need you to listen to me very carefully…"

Stephen Bartowski had then gone to tell his story. That he'd been a government scientist: Orion. His handler, a beautiful spy named Mary Gunter. They had fallen in love during their time with the CIA, eventually marrying once they discovered that Mary was pregnant with Ellie. Up till then, they'd been working on a secret assignment, the Intersect Project. The Intersect in layman's terms was a supercomputer designed to upload skill sets and information into a human host via encoded images. That had been the general theory anyway. Chuck was initially skeptical about such a fabled program, questioning its authenticity. Stephen had revealed then that a day prior to his kidnapping, Chuck had inadvertently uploaded an Alpha version of the Intersect. That was why Chuck had recognized Yuri the Gobbler in Moscow while also being on the receiving end of a splitting headache.

But Chuck wasn't the only Intersect.

Stephen's voice had turned decidedly quiet as he continued his story. There had been a man, a Doctor Hartley Winterbottom who was his best friend. Hartley had uploaded a version of the Intersect as well. This one had differed in design; as it was a downloadable cover identity. The host would_ be_ the cover. The mission that Hartley had eagerly joined had been an overall success. Until the expiration day. When the assignment ended, so would the cover. Something had gone terribly wrong and the cover never broke. Hartley Winterbottom had effectively been erased and Alexei Volkoff remained.

The Agent X Project had been a colossal failure. Stephen had blamed himself for all of it. At the time, Mary had been pregnant with Chuck. She promised once the kids were old enough, and once they were prepared, she'd find Hartley and bring him back to the States. They would fix this. That's why in October of 1990, Mary planned to go undercover in Volkoff Industries—Hartley's alter ego's empire. Somehow Mary's affiliation with the CIA had been leaked. That was why Chuck had been abducted from school and flown to Moscow per Volkoff's orders. He was the honey pot. Of course Mary had gone off to save her son. She'd go to the ends of the earth for her family. Maybe she had known there was no such thing as a happy ending for what she was about to do. Stephen would never know the truth. The end result would always be the same regardless.

Mary had died a martyr.

Chuck had listened to the story, his face a mask of indifference. Even as Stephen had tearfully recounted his mother's demise, there'd been no real change in his countenance. His eyes had given no glimmer of empathy. There had been unrequited apathy and nothing more.

His dad had muttered. "I figured as much."

At Chuck's frown, he continued. "You suffered from a very traumatic experience, son. I don't know how much you remember—"

"All of it," cut in Chuck.

"—but what usually happens to those who go through something so horrible is forever changing. Some experience Post Traumatic Stress Disorder among other things, but then in rare cases, sometimes the pain is too deep and the scars become permanent."

Silence had taken over the car. Chuck had looked straight into his father's eyes and spoke. "I'm going to be this way forever, aren't I?"

"Just know this, Charles," Stephen had said. "You are my son, you are not alone, and you will always be loved."

Chuck would never forget that conversation because that's where it all began. Talk therapy had been useless. The psychiatrist diagnosed him as having sociopathic tendencies that'd sometimes teeter towards the psychopathic scale. The prescription for Lithium supplements was supposed to help with the bouts where his darker personality would take over. The personality that demanded blood to flow. While it did improve his symptoms, they'd never fully go away. They were fleeting, but always came back with a vengeance. There were instances where he had felt like he was possessed. It'd become more frequent as he grew older. He had likened the experience to videogames, where he was a playable character and some invisible force dictated his every thought or move. It was his Controller. Not as ominous as some of the _other _names you'd expect to come across, but he was just a kid and that's how he rationalized his darkness.

Stephen had been aware of his son's dark impulses. He knew there was no amount of therapy or drugs that could stop it. If Chuck couldn't control the urges, he'd become a danger to society and either would find himself in a padded cell or dead. There was a way around this though. He could do something for his son.

"Channel it?" A teenage Chuck had inquired one afternoon in July. He would pick the baseball out of it his glove and then toss it back at his father.

Stephen had caught the ball and nodded. "Yes, and use it for good."

It had given him chills when Chuck laughed. It sounded hollow and empty. "Sounds like the perfect premise for a comic book or television show," he remarked sarcastically. "How could it ever be good?"

Chuck's questioned was left unanswered until his father stopped their game of catch a bit early (he was always the advocate for Chuck engaging in normal activities) and led him inside the house. He had flicked the light switch by his office until Bruce Wayne's Batcave had opened up from below. It was a glorified basement; over encumbered high-end security, rows upon rows of boxes stacked neatly in assorted racks, and hallways that led to nowhere.

Stephen had watched his son bounce around in excitement as he toured the underground base. He had followed Chuck to make sure he wouldn't get himself into trouble (like he was often inclined to do) while explaining how the Intersect operated. The one in Chuck's brain (with a few more tweaks) would be able to identify anyone in its database through visual or audio stimuli. They had eventually come upon the old computer, its screen displayed with **"Activate?"** in large bold print. There, Stephen instructed Chuck to accept the question. In a flash, he was updated with nearly thousands of new data, all of which had been accumulated secretly from the CIA mainframes.

Afterward, they had talked.

The plan had been one of vengeance. Stephen had asked Chuck if he'd want to track down the people who had his mother executed. Chuck of course was enthusiastic in his response. If there had been one emotion he could ever feel, it was hatred. Utter loathing and resentment for those who had betrayed his mom, and had turned him into an unfeeling monster. He had wanted to hunt them down immediately. Make them pay. Fortunately, his father stopped him. Told him he was too young, inexperienced. Soon though, he'd be ready.

Until then, Chuck followed his father's word without question. There had been rules set in place—a strict code to adhere to. Rule one was Chuck could never harm an innocent person.

Chuck had just rolled his eyes. "Duh."

Rule two: Chuck would have to work on his attitude. That meant he'd practice to be the embodiment of normality. Stephen had already begun teaching him the ins and outs of subtlety, charm while he'd rely on the art of stealth. He learned how to put up a believable façade; moving among the masses without attracting suspicion. By college, he had mastered the art of being human. However his "act" had changed over time, fake openness was shoved aside for social insecurity and a general sense of awkwardness that had Chuck wincing. If anything, his flawed personality just further impressed upon him that a piece of his old self remained. And he'd use every ounce of his disarming persona to his advantage.

That's how he had "acquired" Jill Roberts as his girlfriend, and he used that term loosely. It was also how he got in his fraternity's good graces, making friends everywhere he'd go. Like Bryce. He had felt a weird sort of kinship with Bryce Larkin from Connecticut. He couldn't discern why exactly, but he knew that there was more behind those icy-blue eyes than one would initially assume. But all weird, damaged relationships eventually would come to an end. Bryce had crossed the line when he stole Jill and gotten him expelled from Stanford.

Rule three had been to develop a cover. Before his expulsion, sometime during his freshman year, Chuck had been studying astrology in an awfully boring humanities class. He had to identify every single constellation in the big black expanse of the cosmos. To his surprise, he'd rather enjoyed it. He remembered locating the constellation of the hunter, Orion. Then his sights caught eleven stars aligned together, a constellation called Corvus. The crow. A trickster. It was perfect.

Since then, he had gone by that codename while contacting with his father. Stephen had left Chuck and Ellie towards the end of the summer of 1996. Chuck had been fifteen, Ellie three years his senior, about ready to enroll at UCLA. Their father's parting words had been pancakes. Pancakes. Chuck hadn't shed a tear when Stephen—now Orion went rogue. But Ellie had and that didn't sit right with him no matter the reasoning behind his dad's departure.

Their communication since then had been relatively sparse; a few exchanges by telephone or email, and maybe only one face-to-face meeting every six months or so. Orion must've been confident in Chuck's—Corvus' abilities to handle himself alone. He hadn't killed anyone yet. In fact, he'd been productive. Chuck had invented tranquilizer gloves for the stealthy ambush. He had a predisposed phobia for needles, so syringes were out of the question. Guns too. They were too impersonal, too cold. They just reminded him of his mom and that constant _drip drip. _ Orion had seen his son's latest invention before he'd taken off to his first year at Stanford. It had been at the city park, midnight. It was dark but Chuck had seen his father smile like a proud parent.

"I don't know when it will be safe for us to meet again," Orion had said that night. The two sat on a bench beneath a broken streetlamp. The light flickered dimly. "This is why I need to tell you about Fulcrum and their involvement with your mother's death."

Corvus' eyes had fluttered with a flash. "There's no a lot about them in the Intersect. Says Fulcrum is a rogue faction and is suspected of having its members integrated in each of the United States' intelligence agencies."

"They claim to be patriots but it's just a ploy," added Orion. "Their motive is still to be determined, but it has to do with a takeover over the US government starting with the CIA. I believe it starts with them, Charles. They're the first step."

"Then there's no time to waste, huh?" remarked Corvus. Dark eyes had long settled towards the sky, relishing in the glorious reddish moon as it leered at them down below. "I'm taking the train to Palo Alto tomorrow morning. Just four more years of faking it and then I'll be ready."

Orion had squeezed his son's shoulder. "You're aces, Charles."

And then he had vanished into the darkness once again.

* * *

><p>Chuck had yawned, bringing himself back to reality. He was still sitting on the same couch, no longer spacing out, but rather engaging in meaningless conversations with dozens of female partygoers. He hadn't even noticed he was doing it either. His mouth was moving mechanically the entire time.<p>

This was his life.

Mechanical.

Ellie must've seen him scare off another one of her friends because she gave Devon a quick peck on the cheek before bounding through the masses towards the couch. She wore a giant smile that reflected anything but.

"Having fun, baby brother?"

Chuck snorted. "I thought we _just _went over the fact that I'm twenty-six, Sis." He glanced down to his hands that rested in his lap. They were trembling. Great, now he was going into withdrawals like some kind of drug addict. He felt that viper curled inside him strike, its venom now coursing into his veins, driving him absolutely crazy with need.

"Hey, I don't really feel so hot right now, sis." He half-lied. "I'm gonna go to the bathroom for a bit."

Ellie gasped and sprung up. The happy go-lucky sister was instantly replaced by Doctor Bartowski MD. If Chuck had a heart, he would've felt touched by her concern. "Are you ok? What's wrong, Chuck? Talk to me. Where do you feel bad?"

_Not ok, dear sister. I just have a bad case of bloodlust that's all. It's starting to spill over and as much as I "love" you, if you don't let me go right now, I'm afraid they're be quite the news story for tomorrow's paper. 'Birthday Party Massacre! Over fifty guests had been brutally murdered in what could be a…'_

"Chuck?" asked Ellie, breaking him from his reverie. "You do look ill; maybe it was something you ate? Look, just go to your room and take a breather. When you feel up to it, join the party. After all, it is _yours_…"

Chuck nodded. "Thanks sis. You don't have to remind me."

With that, he stood up and stalked off to his bedroom while keeping the sickly facade intact. He knocked on his door.

"It's open," Morgan called from the other side. Chuck sighed and walked into his room, eyeing the television screen warily. Morgan had been right in the middle of playing the _Gears of War_ campaign.

"How's it going, buddy?" Chuck asked flopping on his bed. He glanced outside and noticed the moon's glow cascading over the tiger-striped fountain. Sighing, he realized that his restlessness had become problematic. The color red in all its natural beauty popped into his head. _Drip drip, _Chuck shivered slightly.

Morgan paused the game in mid-chainsaw take down. He studied Chuck's faraway expression and said. "I guess it's about time, huh?"

Chuck nodded mutely.

"Alright, well just hop out of the window and I'll take care of the rest." As Morgan spoke, he turned off the console and moved to the closet. He grabbed a bundle of clothes and tossed it at Chuck. "Just try and be back soon, ok? I really don't want to get a full dose of Ellie's rage if she finds out that you've been faking sick and are mysteriously not in bed."

"You're the best, buddy." Smiled Chuck and he took the clothes before leaping out of the Morgan Door and into the night. The instant his Converse shoes hit the pavement; he took off in a full blown sprint. He felt his heart start to thump at an alarming rate. The false bravado he had worn the entire day was all but gone. The mask was slipping, revealing the wolf underneath the sheep's clothing. The wolf that had now been unleashed into the darkness with only the pale light of the crimson moon to lead the way.

He reached the Herder and nearly flung the door off its hinges in excitement. Stabbing the key in the ignition, music blasted from the speakers at every angle.

"_I can't decide whether you should live or die. _

_ Oh you'll probably go to Heaven, please don't hang your head and cry. _

_ No wonder why my heart feels dead inside. It's cold and hard and petrified. Lock the doors and close the blinds. _

_ We're going for a ride."_

Chuck grinned and couldn't make himself stay still. His nails dug into the steering wheel when he turned onto the freeway. Tonight was most definitely the night. He heard a slight ruckus in the trunk, indicating that his not-so-voluntary passenger had woken up. Let the man enjoy his last few minutes on this mortal coil. He quietly snickered as he heard muffled groaning, prompting him to push the gas pedal down even harder.

There was no time to waste.

Not much later and Chuck rolled up to the garage of his former house. He shut down the car as he leaned over to the glove box and retrieved his tranq gloves. They evoked the memory of one of their last father/son meetings. Sure, Chuck had connected with Orion on a few separate occasions throughout the last seven years, but they'd been brief. Like the mere blink of an eye. The last he'd talked to his dad was sometime in 2005. Two years after Stanford. Chuck had begun working at the Buy More like he had when he was a teenager looking for a summer job. This time, it had become more of a permanent vocation. He didn't mind seeing how it was so easy to pencil in installs that never existed; acquiring some proper free time with his playmates. Los Angeles was crawling with evil doers, namely Fulcrum.

Tonight for example…

Chuck exited the car and breathed deeply. Eyes closed he mentally prepared himself for what would happened next. What _always _happened. Had to happen. The darkness clouded his thoughts and again, that chorus of hidden voices chanted. It filled him up graciously; full like that moon leering from above.

He reopened his eyes, ready. Circling around to the back of the car, he popped trunk. His victim, his plaything for the evening, greeted him with a muffled scream. Jacob Williamson as his handy Intersect had informed him, was a low level Fulcrum analyst who he'd been lucky enough to spot while getting a coffee. It was pure luck but Chuck never looked a gift horse in the mouth. Especially one such as this.

Chuck grabbed Williamson by the throat. "Sorry, it's not time for you to wake up yet," he whispered playfully. "So back to sleep with you," and with a light tap against the analyst's cheek, he was rendered unconscious. Satisfied, Chuck rubbed his palms together before slinging the other man over his shoulder.

At the front door, Chuck smiled nostalgically and murmured. "Home, sweet home."

* * *

><p>Jacob Williamson was a deep sleeper. If Chuck hadn't known any better, he would've sworn that the man sitting strapped to a chair before him was in fact, dead. But that of course was impossible. He <em>had <em>been the one to tranq him in the first place. Williamson may sleep like the dead, but he wouldn't meet his maker until Chuck was through with him. Depending on when he'd wake up.

_Should I kick him?_

Chuck sighed. Well, this was excruciatingly boring and unexpected. He yawned and glanced at the clock hanging by the entrance. It was just after nine pm. From his place on the desk, he contented himself by swinging his feet and twiddling his thumbs in boredom. Again, he was getting antsy.

_All work and no play makes Chuck a dull boy…this is getting ridiculous._

Sufficiently frustrated, Chuck decided he had enough. He leapt off the desk and stomped towards the unconscious body. Grabbing another chair, he placed it in front of Williamson but faced backwards. Chuck sat down and promptly slapped the other man in the face. Hard.

The man stirred, eyelids fluttering to signal he was slowly but surely waking up. Chuck gave his playmate an earnest grin, waving his hand when Williamson finally gained full consciousness.

"Good morning, sunshine."

A pair of heavy lidded eyes landed on Chuck, widening considerably. "You!" He shouted.

Chuck pressed his index finger to his lips and shushed him. "Like in space, no one can here you scream, Jacob." And for that moment he actually looked serious. Then a beat passed and a giant smile erupted on his face. "I've _always _wanted to use that line."

Jacob Williamson blinked confusedly.

Aghast, Chuck exclaimed. "Oh come on! You can't tell me you've never seen _Aliens_? It was a classic! You know a big black alien running around killing unfortunate space marines?" He gauged for some kind of a reaction before adding. "Ridley Scott? Seriously?"

Williamson had the decency to look apologetic. Chuck sort of appreciated the honesty, shrugging. "Oh well, your loss."

"What's going to happen?" The analyst finally summed up the courage to speak, his voice wavering as his gaze never left Chuck. He saw his captor's eyes turn a much darker shade.

"Well, that's up to you, really," replied Chuck evenly. "Either you can tell me what I want to know or you can die. And if I can be perfectly honest, I'm not sure as to what I'm rooting for more."

"W-what do you want to know? I know…I know nothing. I swear I'm just a banker."

"—and I'm just a Nerd Herd supervisor," mocked Chuck. "Do you know how ridiculous you sound right now?"

"I…I don't know what I'm supposed to tell you!"

Chuck stared at him unblinkingly. "Tell me the honest to god truth or I will make this extremely unpleasant. Don't underestimate what I'm capable of; I'm sure you've heard of me."

Williamson's face went pale. "You're him, aren't you? The one who's been killing our agents…Corvus?"

Chuck perked up. "Oh, so you _have _heard of me? Also, way to sell yourself out with that little slip-up. You're not very good at your job are you, Jacob?"

"Dammit, look I'm just an analyst for Fulcrum. They hardly tell me anything."

"Uh huh," said Chuck dubiously. He began fiddling with the knife in his hand. "I'm only going to ask this once, and if you keep playing coy with me, well then evidently it just proves that diplomacy doesn't work for everyone now, does it?"

"Ok, ok, I'll tell you everything I know!"

"Let's hear it, Jacob."

"Fulcrum is an organization with ties to the government and…"

"Trust me when I say I know all of this already," Chuck used the tip of the blade and indicated his temple. "Look, I'm going to make it easy on you. How can I find more Fulcrum members?"

"We…uh we have an office…office building somewhere off of Mulholland. It's um, 1600 Destefano Court….it's uh…um…oh God please don't kill me!" Williamson pleaded as tears sprung from his eyes.

Chuck's eyes shot up. _Wow, talk about taking a shot in the dark. _Had this analyst really just told him the location of the Fulcrum HQ? Or was it only a trap? Without his latest update for the Intersect, he couldn't be positively sure. Nevertheless, this was great progress.

He stood up and placed the knife back in its holster. Then he approached Jacob Williamson who had lost his composure and was sobbing uncontrollably. "Don't worry, Jacob…can I call you Jacob? I mean, I guess we're way past formalities at this point," trailed Chuck as he reached into the man's front pocket and pulled out a wallet. He began searching through the various items until he came to the standard CIA identification card. "Bingo, anyway, you did everything you were supposed to do. And now I'm supposed to let you go…"

Jacob nodded wildly.

"Unfortunately," Chuck started and almost laughed when Jacob's face once briefly held a glimmer of hope, fell back into the pit of despair. "I don't think that's going to happen for obvious reasons."

"Please, I have a wife…kids…a family."

"No you don't," said Chuck. "But I'll forgive your white lie. Seeing as I do it time from time, that'd just be hypocritical of me. Plus, you're desperate and will say absolutely anything to save your life."

Jacob panted heavily, still crying.

"But there _is _good news for you, Jacob." Chuck mentioned offhandedly. "It's my birthday. I'm officially twenty-six years old. And in honor of my special day, I'd like you to share in on the fun."

"Are you…going to…release me?"

Chuck dissolved into fits of laughter. "Are you serious? Why would I—" he snorted again. "Actually, you're kind of my birthday present. That's what I was trying to get around to saying. The bright side is that you get to choose how you want to die? Isn't that awesome?"

It was like watching a Jenga tower collapse. Jacob closed his eyes for a solid minute before glancing at Chuck again. There was no fear now; that happened sometimes. He realized his fate. There would be no getting out alive.

"Come on, it's not fun if you don't play," whined Chuck like a petulant child. He walked over to his table where a collection of various weapons lay. They were all neatly arranged by size. He pushed the moveable tray towards Jacob who tried to abstain from looking at it.

"Seeing as I'm a pretty big nerd and all, I decided to invest in some of pop culture's more popular signature tools," explained Chuck with the same casualness of a kid showing off his baseball card collection. "So, we've got the old Norman Bates axe lying here. Then the butcher knife the Ghostface killer used in Scream. Oh, I even bought a movie replica of Freddy Krueger's claw glove off of EBay. I haven't gotten a chance to use it yet, but I'm saving it for a special occasion…"

The moonlight filtered through cracks of the single window. It flooded down across the underground base and bringing joy, joy, joy. It was calling to the need. It was a harmonious chant of a thousand disembodied voices crying out to that thing that's not-Chuck, coaxing it to the surface. It was very strong now, very cold coiled creeping crackly cocked and ready.

He casted a dark, lust filled glance at his playmate. "I don't really figure you as the kind of guy who wants a lot of pain, am I right?"

Jacob whimpered.

"A simple slice to the carotid, you'd bleed out in seconds and won't feel a thing," mused the thing that took Chuck's place. "That'd get the blood flowing in more ways than one."

Corvus traced a leather clad fingertip over the first blade he could find. A scalpel, excellent. He lifted it up and stared in wonder as the fluorescent light bounced off the blade, shining in his midnight eyes. The end was fast approaching; a hunter and its prey, the butcher and its cattle, the executioner and its victim. There came no noise from Jacob and the only sound in the room had been the soft hum of the ceiling lamps.

Tranquil silence.

Dead silence.

He lowered the blade and rested it against Jacob's neck. The artery was exposed and bulging. Months of practice had made finding the correct location for an incision effortless. Ellie would never know why her little monster of a brother would ask where the carotid artery was in the first place. A simple feather light stroke, like a painter adding the final touches to his greatest work, was enough.

It was sweet release. Blood blossoming and crimson ribbons flowing freely over his hands and of course, _drip dripping _onto the hard floor beneath. Corvus, the silent watcher receded in the depths again; no more Chuck with a knife, or Chuck the Avenger. The voices became quiet and happy-go-lucky, dead-inside Chuck returned.

Jacob Williamson slumped beneath his grasp and he sighed.

"Well, that was anticlimactic," Chuck told the empty room. "And now I'm talking to myself…"

* * *

><p>Chuck had wiped the scalpel clean and the room was spotless. The only thing that came out of tonight was a strangely unsatisfying kill coupled with new information regarding Fulcrum. The prospects of this address being credible were promising. Visualizing a den of Fulcrum agents ripe for the picking made Chuck feel more hopeful about his next get-together with his playmates. Soon this organization would fall and he'd learn the truth about Moscow and more importantly, why.<p>

He spared a glance to the clock again.

"Shit!" He cursed.

It was already half-past ten.

_Time flies when you're having fun. _

His nimble hands started working overtime, quickly packing up the tools of his trade with speed and dexterity that years of honing his skills had made possible. He discarded them all in a drawer of the table before running to the lifeless body of Jacob Williamson. Once more he hauled him over his shoulder, feeling the warm blood spill onto his shirt, staining it beyond further use. It was no matter; he had plenty of clothes to replace it.

Chuck flew to the end of the hallway where a secret door awaited him. He kicked it open to a separate room annexed by the base. It was pristinely clean with the smell of bleach hanging in the air. He spent no time tossing the body into a storage cell where he'd come back and properly dispose of it later. When it didn't feel like time was breathing down his damn neck.

He had to be fast.

If Ellie checked on him before he was back, he'd have some mighty fun explaining to do. Somehow divulging that he moonlighted as a serial killer hardly seemed prudent.

On his way up the stairs, Chuck stopped at the laundry room and deposited his bloody shirt. He proceeded to run to the Herder and sped off into the night. For the twenty minutes it took him to get back to Echo Park, Chuck managed to change into his spare clothes that Morgan gave him while being lucky enough to confront minimum amount of traffic in the meantime.

A few blocks away and his phone beeped. Chuck spared a glance.

_Party is still going. Are you gonna be back soon?_

Chuck quickly thumbed a reply as he drove down the street. He was so close, he could taste victory. Once he was safely back to his apartment, he could just revel in getting away scot free. Then it'd be sleep time for Chuck and Ellie would never suspect a thing.

He raced up to the courtyard, passing the gurgling fountain. The Morgan Door was still wide open, its curtains billowing in the wind. He literally dove through, shedding his clothes rather clumsily until he face-planted right into his safe haven. His bed. Sneaking beneath the covers, he blew out a sigh of relief. Chuck Bartowski lived to see another day. Soon, he heard the clicks of Ellie's high heels as they collided with the hardwood floor. He mentally counted down to zero as his bedroom door creaked ajar.

"Chuck," she whispered. "Are you still up?"

"Yeah…"he croaked in his best attempt to sound sick. She walked inside and he felt the mattress shift as she took a seat beside him.

Ellie put her hand on his forehead and almost immediately retracted it. "God, you're burning up!"

_No kidding. Talk about close calls._

Chuck made a sickly whimper that had always managed to turn his sister into maternal-mode. It had the desired effect. "I'm going to go get you something. Don't you dare get out of this bed, Charles Irving Bartowski. I'll make sure that everyone leaves you in peace."

"No," he rasped. "I…want them to stay if you're having fun."

_Now, where's my award? Do I get an Oscar? How about an Emmy? I at least deserve a pat on the back or a gold star._

"It's ok, it's getting late anyway. I'll be right back." She walked out without another word. Chuck sank further into the bed and groaned with content. It had been a long, rough day and he was glad it had come to an end. Birthdays were tiring.

Ellie returned moments later. "Here you go," she said and dropped several ibuprofen along with a glass of water in his open hands. Kissing him on the forehead, she wished him goodnight.

When the door softly closed, Chuck stared through his lashes and saw the glow of the moon bathing his bedroom with soft luminescence. Just has he begun to fall victim to his own fatigue, his computer bleeped. Chuck silently cursed, sitting up while rubbing his eyes tiredly.

_Crap, forgot to turn my computer off. _

He crawled out of bed and towards his desk.

_Hey, one new message…from Bryce Larkin?_

Chuck's brows furrowed in puzzled annoyance. _If this is some stupid e-card, I swear to God I'll…._ He double clicked the attachment and his screen went black.

A stream of text appeared.

**The terrible troll raises its sword.**

_ Zork?_

"Hmm, what's this?"

* * *

><p><strong>AN2: **We truly hope you enjoyed the first chapter. If you did, please let us know with a review. Also, because we both have our own projects we work on, we would like to know if it's even worth continuing this story. So click that button and let us know on whether or not to continue. From both of us, a heartfelt thank you for taking the time to read and an even bigger one if you do decide to drop us a review. Until the (hopefully) next chapter! (Where you'll probably get an A/N from **ShinyJayne19** to let us know her thoughts on things!)


	2. Chapter 2

**ShinyJayne19's A/N: **Hi everybody! Since Aerox was nice enough to take care of the last update, it's now my turn. Muahaha! The reasoning behind my absence was purely school related, so naturally I'll blame midterms. Anyway, thanks to all that reviewed for chapter one! I'd like to preface by saying that just because you haven't seen_ Dexter_, doesn't mean you'll be totally in the dark about this story. Trust me. But for future reference, watch _Dexter _anyway. It's the best thing since…well, Chuck. Sure, that doesn't make any sense since _Dexter_ came before Chuck, but I digress. And I'm rambling now…

Please, please review! If you know anything about psychology, then I'm sure you're well aware of the concept of conditioning. Someone does something good (i.e. updates their story) and you reward them for their efforts. This is known as the circle of life. And my petty attempt to cultivate more feedback. So sue me.

R&R and enjoy!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Two<strong>

* * *

><p>The clock's alarm went off early that next morning. Chuck groaned loudly from his spot on the floor, and was subsequently taken aback by a sharp pain emerging with his gradual return to consciousness. There was no way to accurately describe how he was feeling. The sheer unpleasantness equated to what he may have thought it'd be like to jump off the Empire State Building and live. That being said, there was no brain matter needed to be scraped off the metaphorical pavement of Chuck's subconscious. His brain remained intact within the confines of his skull; though it had been sufficiently jumbled into disarray.<p>

When Chuck finally opened his eyes, the finer details of his surroundings began swirling into view. It had been very blurry at first. But then as time progressed, he could discern the square box shape set in front of him as it transformed into his desk, and the searing light on his cornea was registered as simply the sunrays reflecting off the white walls of his room. He apparently never made it back to the comfort of his bed. Instead he found himself lying sprawled out on the floor, for what he assumed could've been the entire night.

There was another agonizing stab provided by his hellish migraine. Chuck buried his face in both hands, a last ditch effort to elude the sun's glare that was currently bearing down on him. It was this sensitivity to light and mind-numbing pain that roused Chuck's suspicions. The sensation was all too familiar. He calmly forced himself upright before being struck by a troubling realization.

_ How in the world did Bryce Larkin from Connecticut get a hold of an Intersect?_

His question immediately triggered a response, eyelids fluttered as he succumbed to a flash. Images of Bryce sped by at an alarming rate—test results in Stanford, surveillance images from around the world, official CIA credentials, and his personal dossier accompanied even by photos of him romantically involved with Jill Roberts.

The mental strain induced by the Intersect slowly subsided until there was only a dull throb. Now a feeling of wonder suddenly descended upon Chuck. So, Bryce Larkin was a spy. It made such perfect sense. He knew there had been something amiss about Bryce. Seven years prior to where they were first introduced, Chuck speculated that Bryce was some variation of himself; a wolf in sheep's clothing. It looked like he assumed right in that respect.

_ Guess I'm not the only one with a secret then…_

Chuck picked himself up off the floor. After enduring another bout of dizziness, he proceeded to stretch his muscles until they slowly regained some of their former limber. Meanwhile, his thoughts diverted away from Bryce (he'd investigate that later on) and to the night before. Jacob Williamson was no more, his corpse stored in the morgue-esque room for future use. The cause of death: a severed carotid artery. While there had been a lot of blood involved as result of rupturing a major vein, the kill itself was quite lackluster. It was actually wholly underwhelming. His dark urges may have been curbed temporarily, but how long would it last? If he was no longer satisfied by just the thrill of the hunt alone, what would have to change, if anything at all? Maybe he was expecting too much. Or maybe it wasn't enough?

Chuck's frown deepened. What happened to the profound burst of euphoria, that feeling of pure release as his heart would race away to oblivion? He used to feel so alive if only for the briefest of time. Now he felt dead again. Empty. Hollow. Had it been because of Jacob's resistance to cooperate with Corvus' playful mood, making him resort to the simple and effective, yet so very boring scalpel? Or had this routine become such a common practice, so repetitive that the act of taking life had inevitably denigrated into monotony?

Was he actually bored?

Or did he crave more?

Whatever the reason, it was neither the time nor the place to dwell. It was too early for such deep thinking, and besides, he had to get ready for work. Therefore Chuck made the executive decision to try and not worry about his lessening fulfillment or why Bryce had sent him an Intersect (though he did appreciate the birthday gift), and just focus on the present. He'd figure it all out eventually. Hopefully…

Chuck sighed and ran a hand through his rumpled hair. He glanced down and realized that he was still wearing the same clothes from last night, the only exception being the ruined shirt he left back in Encino. There was dried blood caked onto his skin underneath the clean shirt Morgan had so helpfully provided him. Red blotches had already begun to seep through the white material. Knowing that Ellie would freak out and demand an explanation for the stains, Chuck removed the shirt and promptly tossed it into the trashcan beside his nightstand.

_ Why do I have the feeling that I'll be spending most of this month's salary on a new wardrobe?_

He jammed both hands into the pockets of his jeans. His fingers prodded something plastic and retrieved it. It was the CIA credentials once owned by Jacob Williamson; analyst turned Fulcrum mole. Like with anyone of his former playmates, Chuck liked to keep some form of identification as a reminder of each individual kill. It was a little macabre, but he felt like a trophy was necessary. Without it, how else could he reminisce about his past conquests?

Chuck dropped to his knees and peaked beneath the bed to find where a shoebox was safely hidden in the underside of the mattress. He pulled it out from its secret location and fell on his heels before finally opening the lid. He grinned at the stacks of neatly aligned cards stored inside. It had everything from drivers' licenses, to FBI badges and even several CIA credentials as well. Chuck carefully placed the most recent addition into its new home, letting his fingers skim over his ever growing collection. Pleasant memories of the past returned to Chuck with striking clarity. Each told a different story. All of which ended in blood and liberation.

He sighed, desperate to recapture that missing spark which made all those little moments so memorable. Placing the lid over the shoebox, he returned it to its rightful place, shrouded in total darkness. Like all monsters, hidden underneath the bed where it naturally belonged.

Now Chuck was ready to start the day.

* * *

><p>He was a creature of habit.<p>

Rituals had become a very important part of Chuck's life. They were integral to shaping who he was, or _who _he wanted to be. The notion of having a routine was another belief instilled by his father. According to Orion, it was the epitome of normal human behavior. People didn't fare well when their lives were in a constant state of flux. For some strange reason, they feared change. Chuck didn't quite understand what the big deal was. Change could be good. Like for instance, he needed to revise his own dark and demanding schedule. Or else he'd probably be driven to do something he would no doubt "pretend" to regret. However, when in Rome…

The morning got underway with Chuck getting undressed, and then hopping straight into the shower. He unconsciously turned on the radio, listening to the LA traffic report while enjoying the hot water as it loosened up his aching muscles and left him happy, relaxed. What remained of Jacob Williamson had raced down Chuck's upper torso in the form of bright red streaks. The blood dyed the bathwater crimson, circling the drain in a hypnotic fashion. Chuck watched, mesmerized.

_ "The 101 is clear at Universal City. Watch out for delays near Burbank Airport…"_

Suddenly, he felt a second flash hit him without warning.

_ "Security's checking all vehicles. Got a stickler on the I-605 San Gabriel River Freeway southbound. A fender-bender on the I-5 Freeway, northbound from 91 Freeway to…"_

Chuck shook off his disorientation, frowning confusedly. _This Intersect is definitely unlike my dad's. This one has been heavily upgraded with serious altercations in the programming._

The Intersect he downloaded over a decade ago was mostly for facial and voice recognition. It had been designed with the purpose of tracking down Fulcrum and other traitors in mind. Now this updated version (Chuck assumed it was CIA property since Bryce, a spy, had sent it to him) had even more tools and uses than he thought was possible.

_ At least I got the heads up to not take the 5 to work today. Cops in a fazed deployment, wonder what's going on?_

After toweling off, Chuck got dressed. He wore a fresh pair of black pants, a white buttoned up shirt, a grey tie and of course, his favorite converse shoes. This ensemble made up most of his Nerd Herd uniform. _The Buy More. _He sighed and shook his head sadly. _I can't believe I'm still stuck there. Sometimes covers really, really suck._

Since both Ellie and Devon were working shifts at the hospital, Chuck had found the rest of the apartment empty. He discovered a note on the kitchen countertop left by his sister. It told him that she hoped he felt better and that there was plenty of leftover cake in the refrigerator. Cake didn't sound too appeasing for breakfast, and while Chuck appreciated the kind gesture, he decided that a bowl of cereal and coffee would suffice.

A few minutes of satisfying his appetite, followed by tending to his hygiene, and Chuck was ready to leave. He exited the apartment, clutching the keys of the Herder tightly in his grasp.

* * *

><p>The ride over to the Buy More was boring as usual. It'd been the same uneventful drive for the past five years. He could've taken the identical route a thousand or so times by now, but it wasn't like Chuck kept an ongoing tally in his head. The only difference today was that according to the Intersect, the 5 Highway was busy. So he took a detour until he arrived to the Burbank Plaza; parked the Herder in its designated spot, and proceeded to walk through the loading docks.<p>

Chuck was always punctual. He clocked into work precisely at eight am, taking his rightful place behind the Nerd Herd help counter. As the title suggested, he was the supervisor of the other members of the Nerd Herd crew. It'd been a job promotion that came rather unexpectedly, though it gave him the freedom to pencil in installs that did not exist, just in case something 'personal' came up. His team however, seemingly made it a top priority of theirs to deter Chuck from carrying out his dark double life. They were often successful, and sometimes he'd get the briefest glimpse for how it'd feel to satisfy those urges in another way, and to just plunge a knife into….

_ NO! _His mind was not going to go there. Not again.

He unceremoniously slumped into his chair, eyes focused towards the ceiling for no particular reason other than to convey his boredom and lack of self-control. Here was just another day of mindless repairs and dealing with inept customers. Repetition became somewhat of a nuisance when he had been forced to relive the same mundane activities without an end in sight. He had the intelligence and the drive to pursue a better, more fulfilling life. But that would break his cover. Chuck Bartowski was supposed to be a reluctant, wildly insecure underachiever. Not the confident and manipulative thing that lurked beneath the surface.

However there was a silver lining.

While Chuck loathed confronting most of the drivel that went in and out of the store, the only exception was he enjoyed interacting with the kids. No, he wasn't a pervert who got off on children. That was a sick assumption. Those people (if he could even call them that) were on whole different level than he was. There wasn't a punishment that even Chuck the Avenger could inflict worthy for them. They were much better suited in a special circle of Hell. But that was beside the point. Chuck believed that his amiability towards kids had to do with his unconventional childhood. His innocence had been all but ripped away in one cruel act. So to see a child happy and naive would brighten his day. It also posed an interesting question: Was he as screwed up as he always made himself out to be, or maybe there was still a shred of humanity buried way down inside of him?

_ And that will forever be the million dollar question…_

Chuck shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He fell into a state of deep thought. His pensive expression faltering into that of great exasperation once his finely tuned senses detected four new bodies approaching him at the desk.

_ Oh look, and here comes the cavalry._

"Dude, what's this impromptu meeting about?" asked the puzzled voice of Morgan. "I mean, I'm assuming it's for Nerd Herd employees only…so why am I being included?"

Brown eyes reopened, fixing a flat stare with Morgan. "Does Irene Demova ring any bells?"

"I…uh, well—"

Morgan's face turned scarlet and he fell silent. The rest of the Herd—Jeff, Lester and Anna, snickered in amusement. Even Chuck was humored by his friend's embarrassment. With a tiny smile brandishing the corners of his lips, he rose from his seat.

"Fellow nerds," he announced, "Today is going to be a very bad day. As you should've probably gathered by now, there's a new computer virus dubbed the Irena Demova."

Lester snorted.

Chuck rolled his eyes, resuming. "Yes, it's named after the Serbian porn star. Lonely dude call volume will be high. If you'd please turn your attention to the display version of our Prism Express laptop…"

He opened the laptop and the monitor was instantly bombarded with graphic pictures, videos and sexually provocative sounds blaring from the speakers. "Thanks to dirty Uncle Morgan, we can at least isolate what caused the virus to corrupt the hardrive's files. Needless to say, just find some self-restraint and please refrain from entering Miss Demova's website."

"Will that be all, Charles?" asked Lester, impatiently. Jeff nodded in agreement. His stare, blank and unblinking. "Because the _rest _of us have some installs to get over with."

"I guess so," sighed Chuck, resigning to defeat. He waved them off. "Just go and do whatever it is that you do…"

After the group disbanded, only Chuck and Morgan remained at the help desk. The two best friends traded bored glances before going back to work. Or whatever constituted as work at the Buy More.

* * *

><p>At first, Chuck could've sworn he was dreaming, but the idea was quickly shot down once he remembered that monsters were incapable of such human feats.<p>

For the last ten minutes or so, he had been forced to wait on a phone call with Corporate per Big Mike's orders. Since then, he'd been on hold, listening to elevator music play nonstop. That was enough to drive anyone insane. Even monsters like him didn't appreciate their patience being tested in such a way. Chuck was fantasizing some random faceless death, conjuring new ways to sate his bloodlust when the front entrance doors slid open. He was immediately pulled from his dark thoughts as his jaw literally dropped and suddenly forgot why he'd been so upset in the first place. Because all conscious thought ceased the very instant that _she _appeared. The most stunning woman Chuck had ever laid eyes upon, had graced the Buy More with her otherworldly presence.

Chuck may have been officially diagnosed as a sociopath, but he wasn't so emotionally despondent that he was absolutely disinterested in the opposite sex. He could fully appreciate feminine beauty for what it was. Why else would he vow to never harm a woman, Fulcrum agents notwithstanding? He had standards. Unlike him, chivalry wasn't dead yet.

He watched blindly as she made her slow approach. She moved in her own way, with the slightest sway of her hips, expelling confidence and purpose with each step. Her blond hair shimmered as the sunlight bounced off the store's glass windows and set her aglow. She looked positively erotic while wearing a beige leather jacket, tight-fitting (did he emphasize it was _very _tight-fitting?) jeans, and a pair of brown boots to complete the flawless ensemble. While she was fixated with the phone resting in her palm, Chuck could not find it in himself to shy away.

_ What the hell is wrong with me today?_

Chuck mentally scolded himself. This woman wasn't anything more than a a potential customer who deserved his best behavior, and to be serviced accordingly. Anything less would be perceived as rude, and ruin his cover. He inhaled a deep breath and forced a sober smile. There was no trouble faking it this time around. Oddly enough, it came naturally to him for once.

However, his smile faded once the woman glanced up from her phone. Her pale blue bombardier's eyes caught him ogling. She smirked and simply resumed her advancement, brushing a strand of hair from her face. There, Chuck saw a giant sapphire ring protruding from the middle finger of her left hand. He suddenly felt an onslaught of images dance across his waking vision.

_ Why am I not surprised? _The flash receded and Chuck inwardly groaned. He managed to recover pretty fast, knowing a lot more about the mysterious blond beauty than he initially had upon her arrival. The grace in which she walked suddenly morphed into the posture of a hunter. Her soft baby blues, reduced to that unmistakable predatory gleam. Chuck now saw her for what she really was: Agent Sarah Walker of the CIA. He planned to keep the pretense of her being just the average customer, and act cordial, polite. Though if he could discern an ulterior motive, well he'd have to play that one by ear.

_ So what are you here for, Agent Walker—business or pleasure?_

Chuck let the worry lines in his face recede, burying them away. He put up his mask and would maintain it this time. Agent Walker wouldn't suspect a thing. As he listened to Morgan blab about Vicky Vale, Chuck watched the blond spy come forward. He took this as his cue to launched into a vague sounding rap, knowing it'd calm him down if temporarily.

"Vicky Vale, Vicky—Vicky Vale, Vickity Vale…"

He was fiddling with his pen like it were a makeshift murder weapon, and still holding the phone as he kept repeating his nerdy mantra. Then once he heard a feminine throat being cleared, Chuck looked up and did a classic double-take before dropping the phone in mock embarrassment.

_ It's show time._

Agent Walker commented bemusedly. "I hope I'm not interrupting."

"I—I'm sorry, I didn't mean to...I uh, that's from Batman?" He offered meekly.

The spy smiled. "Because that makes it better?"

_ Well played._

Chuck swallowed, asking. "Can I help you?"

"Actually, you can…" she trailed off. Chuck waited a few beats, but just as he intended to open his mouth and respond, Morgan jumped in seemingly out of nowhere. If it wasn't for his keen self-restraint, Chuck would've gutted his best friend by accident. He managed to deter his impulse by clicking the pen in quick repeated succession.

Morgan leaned over the counter, out of breath. "Chuck, his name is Chuck! My name is Morgan!"

_ Thank you, Morgan Grimes for that very insightful revelation._

Chuck rolled his eyes. The agent, however, continued to play along.

"Wow, I didn't think people still called their kids Chuck…or Morgan for that matter."

Fortunately for Agent Walker, Chuck and Morgan knew the perfect explanation. They'd been using the same joke to entertain their peers since the sixth grade. "Well, my parents were sadists," explained Chuck. "And Morgan's parents found him in a dumpster."

"But they raised me as one of their own," Morgan added solemnly. They quickly broke out into satisfied grins once Agent Walker reciprocated with an amused look on her face.

Then came the awkward silence.

"So…" began Chuck.

"Sarah."

"Sarah, what can I help you with?"

"This," she said and deposited a dinky looking cellular phone on the countertop. Well, at least she had a legitimate excuse.

"Oh yeah, the Intellicell!" Chuck nodded, explaining. "It has this little screw that pops loose right in the back here…" He skillfully tended to the appliance with just a screwdriver in hand. "So with a few twists and, good as new!" He then returned the fixed phone to Sarah, silently gauging her reaction.

She examined the phone, responding with a bright smile. "Wow, you geeks are good!"

"—nerd, I'd say is the more appropriate term, what with the Nerd Herd and all," Chuck spoke quickly, gesticulating to the massive sign that was above them.

When Sarah's smile broadened, she held eye contact a long longer than Chuck thought was necessary. He felt strangely uncomfortable by her piercing gaze. Morgan however seemed to interpret this standoff as some sort of mating ritual and was now grinning like a fool. This only further impressed how awkward Chuck was in these kinds of situations. But thankfully the moment was disrupted when a man came running up to the desk with young girl dressed in a ballerina outfit in tow. They both looked equally distressed.

"Excuse me," the man butted in sounding panicked and very frantic. "I have an emergency. I don't know what I did wrong, but I shot the entire recital…but, um, now it won't play back."

Chuck sighed. _Saved by a clueless customer. Who would've thought?_

"Ok, ok, we'll just take a look," he replied in a calm tone. Chuck took the camera from the man and carefully inspected it. It seemed to be functioning just fine. He peered through the lens and saw that the camera worked. He found his answer when he popped open the tape holder. "And you don't have any tape in here…"

"But, its digital!"

"Right, yes, but you still need digital tape," Chuck explained with false sympathy. Inside, his darker half was squirming and laughing at the poor soul. He was unsurprised to find the same reaction in the man's eyes as he previously had seen in Jacob Williamson. Utter defeat. But while this man was incompetent, he was also innocent. Plus, the girl beside him looked extremely upset. If there was one thing that Chuck couldn't stand, it was a helpless child.

That's when he got an idea.

He turned to his bearded companion. "Morgan, I need the wall."

"As you wish!"

Chuck saw Agent Walker watching all of this unfold. There was no hint of impatience in her expression, the evident twinkling in her blue eyes told him as much. Her scrutiny evoked a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. It was one that was reserved for when the darkness reigned supreme. His heart raced, thoughts became clouded and convoluted. Maybe this was his instincts at work?

_ I can't trust her, that much is true. Especially since she's CIA. Who knows, maybe she's Fulcrum too? This could be my lucky day…_

"My apologies," said Chuck to the female spy. "Duty calls. I'm sure you can understand that."

"Of course," she said and the soft smile on her face looked genuine. Chuck was unfazed. Why would she be willingly flirting with somebody like him? She was obviously working an angle.

Chuck stepped away from the counter and left Agent Walker in his wake. But he came to an abrupt stop when the ballerina was still standing nervously in front of the desk. Puzzled, he knelt in front of her.

"Hey, is something the matter?"

"I'm usually in the back row," the girl replied with a sulk. "I'm too tall. I block the other ballerinas."

Chuck pondered this for a moment. His face lit up and he leaned forward, beckoning the girl to do the same. "Can I tell you a secret? But you can't tell that other girls."

She nodded.

"Real ballerinas _are _tall."

The little girl suddenly perked up and gave him a grateful hug. Chuck was caught off guard, returning the gesture after the surprise wore off. He saw a curious expression appear on Agent Walker, who hadn't moved an inch the entire time.

* * *

><p>The ballerina moved with such grace that even Chuck couldn't ignore the fluid movements emanating from the young girl in the silly pink tutu. She wove over the space and was thriving on the attention bestowed upon her by the shoppers and bystanders. Agent Walker included.<p>

When the music ended, so did her routine. The little girl finished with a bow and the crowd erupted in applause. Chuck gave her the thumbs-up before sneaking out of the sea of people, wading through the masses so he could finally deal with Agent Walker. If she was still even there. Unfortunately, he was thwarted once again. By what could quite possibly be the bane of his existence—well that was maybe a bit harsh.

"Chuck," said Harry Tang, drawling out his name.

He stared at Tang impatiently. "Look, I was just getting back to work."

Tang looked over Chuck's shoulder to find the blond otherwise known as Agent Walker lingering by the Nerd Herd counter. His eyebrows shot up when a devilish smirk curved onto his lips.

"Oh, so that's your definition of work, huh Chuck?"

Chuck rolled his eyes. "She has been waiting on me for a good five minutes, Harry. Do you want me to provide her with acceptable Buy More etiquette, or make her experience here a one-time thing?"

Tang had yet to break contact with the CIA skirt. "I'd like to teach her the proper Buy More etiquette with a good ole fashion Australian kiss."

Chuck was afraid to ask. "Ignoring the fact that you're married, what exactly is an Australian kiss?"

"It's like a French kiss," said Tang, and then lowered his voice. "Only that it's down under."

He then had the audacity to laugh at his own stupid joke. Chuck set his jaw, eyes flashing dangerously while Tang continued with his incessant giggling. It made him visibly cringe; mind suddenly racing to locate the nearest item that could dual as a weapon. To have Harry Tang choke on blood till death's stupor overcame him would be a pleasant thing to witness. Just anything to shut the pervert up forever would be pleasant.

Chuck's face remained stoic and impassive. _I could probably kill him before anybody realized what happened._

Sadly, killing your superior didn't exactly reflect well on a person. It'd violate every rule that Orion had been so kind to implement. So he simply shoved Harry aside and continued at the same brisk pace till he reached Agent Walker. His mind now chock full of violent, wayward thoughts, Chuck tried desperately to push them back into the bottomless abyss that was his conscious.

"Hi, sorry about that," Chuck said once they were alone.

"Don't be. That was a really sweet thing you did for that little girl over there," she replied, the sincerity of her tone evident.

"Uh, thanks…it's my job." Chuck stammered. He really didn't need to be thanked. There were brief instances where the real him, the one buried beneath all the layers of psychobabble and Lithium supplements, would come out to play. And while he didn't like people because they fucked him up, he did have that soft spot for kids.

Agent Walker shook her head. "No, it was your job to point out that the camera needed tape. What you did went above your job description. It was…nice. You don't see much of that anymore."

Chuck was beaming on the inside. The beast residing within purred, appreciating her praise. Sure, he knew that what he did was selfless. But she couldn't know that he was eating her compliments up. He looked away shyly, "It was nothing, really."

"Well, whatever it was, it was sweet." Agent Walker glanced at her watch. "Damn, I have an appointment with a realtor. I just moved here."

_ Of course you did, Agent Walker. _"Oh, that's great. Welcome to Burbank," greeted Chuck, smiling from ear to ear.

"Thanks. Hey, I hope it's not too forward or anything, but I was…I was wondering if you'd like to get coffee some day?"

Chuck frowned. How was he supposed to respond to that? He understood that she was a CIA agent who was here decidedly _not _for pleasure. But no one else knew that. To the average spectator, it simply looked like a gorgeous woman had just asked him out.

…_Actually, the truth makes a lot more sense._

"Oh, oh, I'm so sorry. I was getting too ahead of myself," she said, her voice trailing off in a self-chastising whisper. "Dammit, Sarah."

Chuck was shocked by her sincerity. He stopped her, "No, no that's not it at all. Just uh, I don't really know when I'll have some time off. So why don't you just write down your phone number or something and I'll give you a call when I can?"

Smooth.

Agent Walker hastily began scribbling her digits on a card. Chuck was torn, wondering whether this was all an act. It was pretty convincing and almost fooled him, the master of manipulation himself. The CIA really knew how to train their operatives in the art of deception. He hadn't come across someone so on par with faking it as the blond standing before him. She was the ultimate temptress. The original sin. Something stirred inside him again. Restless.

"Here you go," she handed the card with a smile. "Just call me when you have an opportunity."

"Will do," Chuck said giving her a dazzling smile of his own. He swore that Agent Walker had blushed, but that was probably a misconception on his part. It was unusually warm for September. So that could explain her flushed appearance. Walker continued to try and find the right words to no avail. Eventually, she gave up, turned and walked out of the store.

Chuck watched her leave. His head tilted in a confused expression.

_ That was the weirdest thing I think I've ever seen in my entire life._

"Ho-oly shit dude! I can't believe that just happened," exclaimed Morgan, his voice sounding a touch breathless.

Chuck asked lamely. "What happened?"

"What happened? What happened?" You just got a date with freakin' Vicky Vale, that's what happened! Dude, that's so sick."

Chuck nodded, mind reeling. Agent Walker was undoubtedly attractive. Even by DC comic standards, she was one in a million. Somehow he doubted that if they were to end up going for coffee, it'd be all but pleasant. It was probably in his best interests to ignore her and the CIA, and whatever they wanted. Hopefully, it wasn't him.

He sighed. "Hold on, Morgan. I don't think I'm going to call her. She'll find her own way eventually, and she can definitely find someone much better suited to get coffee with."

"Dude, are you kidding me right now? Please tell me that you're kidding."

Shooting him a dry look, he said. "I'm not, Morgan."

"I'm gonna try and be honest here, Chuck," Morgan began seriously. "Because you're my best friend and I love you like a brother. But have you actually _seen _that woman? You're going and that's final."

_ Sometimes I think he forgets that I'm the sociopath in this relationship._

Half of him was warming to the idea of taking Agent Walker on her offer. Maybe it wasn't going to be that big of a deal. Or maybe it was just a trap set up to finally apprehend Corvus, dead or alive. Conflicted, He took the card and stuck it in his back pocket.

"Happy?" he asked Morgan.

"Immensely?"

"Really, immensely?"

"I figured I'd try to expand my vocabulary."

Chuck smiled, patting his friend on the back. "Why don't we get back to work before Harry finds another reason to chew us out, huh?"

Morgan rolled his eyes sarcastically. "Well we can't have that now, can we?"

* * *

><p>His shift at the Buy More was done by the afternoon. The sun was at its highest point in the sky, just beginning its descent over the fiery hillside. When he returned to Echo Park, Chuck was whistling jovially to a random tune as he walked from the Herder and back to the apartment. The card of the CIA agent sat like an anvil in his pocket. It just wouldn't be proper for a serial killer to talk with a spy, no matter the underlying circumstances. They were polar opposites. Like oil and vinegar, never meant to mix. For now, he'd simply ignore her existence as a minor inconvenience. But if she'd come back, he'd find a way to deal with her. Whether he liked it or not, staying under the radar took precedence over everything. Rule number one, don't get caught.<p>

He stepped through the door and was greeted with the sight of Ellie cuddled up against Devon "Captain Awesome" Woodcomb. They seemed to be acting particularly carefree, a far cry from how rigorous their jobs were as a neurologist and cardiothoracic surgeon. Chuck often felt relatively small compared to the two of them, despite the fact that he was essentially ridding the world of evil. Yet, all anyone would see was the lovable guy who worked for $11 an hour at the Buy More. Not a monster, vigilante or dare he say it, hero.

"Hey Ellie," he greeted with a curt nod. "Devon."

Ellie smiled warmly, "Hey, Chuck."

Devon beamed as well. "Chuckster! Good to see you, mi amigo!"

After the colloquial greeting, Chuck headed for his room. He didn't get far as Morgan all but ran into the apartment. He came thundering across the wooden flooring, skidding to a stop as he shouted at the top of his lungs. "Chuck's got a date!"

"What?" Ellie cried as she immediately shot up from her resting place on Devon's lap. "Tell me everything!"

Chuck shot a murderous glare towards Morgan who visibly faltered. "No, I do not have a date."

Morgan rebounded quickly, arguing. "Chuck, man, she was _all _over you. Just give her a call and you're golden."

Ellie was now in full fledged matchmaker mode. Usually, Chuck only had to deal with her in this mood during his birthday but Morgan had just inadvertently added gasoline to the smoldering fire and made it a raging inferno. Dante would be proud if he also wouldn't be so terrified.

She began her rigorous version of Twenty Questions: "Who is she? Is she nice? What does she look like?"

"_Sarah _is a customer who wanted to get her phone fixed," explained Chuck flatly. "She's new here and wanted someone to show her around. And she looks…nice."

"Nice?" Morgan cried, affronted. "You call that nice? No, Chuck. Jill looked nice. This girl… whoa."

"Seriously, it's not a big deal. Nothing is going to happen."

"Charles Irving Bartowski, you will call this woman and you will go on a date! Do you understand me?" Ellie shouted. Chuck actually felt a drop of sweat permeating from the crown of his curls. The last time he sweated, there was a knife fight involved. He didn't lie when he told Morgan that Ellie could be intense.

"Fine," he grumbled and pulled out the card. "I'll call her." He proceeded to dial the number, and then listened to the phone ring. "It's ringing," he said in mock-enthusiasm.

The three pairs of eyes settled upon him were clearly not amused by his sarcastic wit. They were currently more interested in invading his personal life. When did that become appropriate human conduct? And if so, why hadn't he gotten the memo?

There was a long pause and Chuck prayed no one would answer. But then again, luck didn't appear to be on his side today.

"Hello?"

_ Why did she actually give me a real phone number? What happened to that six-digit fake out?_

"Sarah?" He began. "Hi, it's Chuck, from the Buy More."

"Oh, hey Chuck! It's really good to hear from you," she said candidly. _CIA training paying dividends. _"I'm assuming you found a hole in your schedule?"

His busy schedule was a flimsy excuse. She deserved more creativity. "Uh, yeah, I uh… got tomorrow between noon and two off… so how about then?" he asked, adding a hopeful tinge to his already wavering voice.

"That's perfect! I'll meet you at the Buy More then, alright?"

"S—sure," Chuck hesitated. At first he was honestly surprised she agreed to a day date. He couldn't believe he was going to go through with this. "That's great."

There was another short pause. "Chuck, are you ok?"

_ No, not at all. I'm just mentally bashing my head into the figurative wall of my sick, deluded psyche. Don't mind me._

But what he really said went along the lines of this. "Oh, who me? I'm just peachy. Just not used to talking to somebody…like you…and now I sound like I'm eight."

He heard Agent Walker laugh. It wasn't boisterous or anything. Just a simple, heartfelt laugh. "That's okay, Chuck. I appreciate the compliment. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Okay… bye." He ended the call and waited for the inevitable barrage of Ellie to fall down on him like an angry torrent of rain.

"I knew you could do it, little brother!" Ellie squealed.

Devon added with a nod of approval. "Way to go, Chuck. That's awesome."

"Yeah… hey, what are you watching?" Chuck said, managing to switch the topic with the subtlety of an elephant attempting stealth.

"Oh, just the news. We don't really have time for anything else as we've got to go to the hospital soon." Ellie replied.

"Oh… alright," Chuck said as he turned to catch a brief glance of the TV set. The local news was in the midst of reporting on the fact that a General Stanfield, a former commander of NATO would arrive in Los Angeles later that night. He was due to present a speech at the peace conference. Chuck almost let out a sigh of annoyance when the fourth flash hit.

Flight plans followed by memos from the NSA with regards to General Stanfield and the fact that he would be arriving in Los Angeles much earlier than expected. A memo from the NSA suggesting that General Stanfield might be the target of a possible attack.

_ Well, that's great. Someone's going to try and kill a General of the United States. That ought to blow over just fine._

He shook the thoughts from his head. Even though Orion's law was mostly aimed at Fulcrum, Chuck was pretty sure that he'd want his son to do everything he could to make sure that there wouldn't be an assassination, especially on someone in the military. Still, there was nothing that Chuck could do about it. At least in his current predicament.

_ I need to get out of here before I flash on anything else life-alerting._

He shunned the television and turned his attention to Morgan. "Hey buddy, want to get some Sizzling Shrimp?"

Morgan's stomach growled. "You know I do! Let's go."

Chuck turned towards Ellie and Awesome. "Can I get you guys anything as well?"

"No thanks, Chuck. We've both got the nightshift. We'll see you tomorrow," smiled Ellie.

"Guess it's just you and me, buddy," Chuck said.

A smile ghosted his lips as he saw Morgan rubbing his hands in pure delight.

_Yes, we without a doubt have the weirdest friendship._

* * *

><p>Later that night, they returned home with full bellies of shrimp. Their excursion to China Town in the City of Angels was well earned. The food was rich and filling. It preoccupied Chuck of his darker urges; discussing Call of Duty strategies and his latest kill helped ease the call of something sinister.<p>

"So, how did this guy react?" asked Morgan cheerfully. He took a giant gulp of his soda, always one for an entertaining story.

Laughing, Chuck stuck the key into the door of the apartment. "You should've seen the look on his face, buddy, when I told him that he'd get to choose how he could—"He stopped in mid-sentence. _What the…?_

The door flung wide open to reveal the confines of La Casa de Bartowski. Inside the living room was a ninja, carrying his PC. If there was one thing that could possibly warrant a death wish faster than being involved with Fulcrum, it was touching Chuck's computer without permission. He just sort of had a pet peeve about that. It was unacceptable. Suddenly, the restless feeling of his darker half resurfaced. Chuck saw red veil his vision. The beast inside clawed at him for blood to be spilt. He handed the bag of Asian delicacies to Morgan.

He remarked. "Really, a ninja?" A much darker tone had creeped into his voice.

Morgan stole a nervous glance at his best friend. The change in Chuck's countenance was as swift as it was deeply unsettling. His mask slipped to reveal something dark and foreboding. Morgan had been lucky enough to confront _this _Chuck only on a few separate occasions. Most of which occurred during their childhood where getting pummeled by the school bullies, only to be saved by Chuck, was a frequent thing. Back then, it wasn't that scary. Mostly because Chuck was tiny and somewhat innocent looking. Now on the other hand…

"Morgan, stay back." Chuck's colder voice called. "I'll handle this."

The first strike came from the ninja at an unexpected angle. The ninja's left hand shot up in a straight line, only clenching to a fist at the last possible moment to increase torque. Chuck, well Corvus to be precise, barely saw it coming. Whoever he was fighting was obviously a professional. The hand grazed his cheek and Corvus tried to retaliate with a closed fist to the abdomen. The ninja's right hand shot down and blocked the punch before twisting around and launching a vicious heel kick at his temple. Corvus' left arm shot up, blocking the oncoming leg and grabbing the heel in mid air. He tried to sweep the leg, but the ninja jumped and managed to perform a standing somersault.

Corvus knew he was in trouble. This ninja was good. He'd have to lure him in a trap. When he saw a punch that was aimed for his trachea, Corvus pulled his chin down and managed to catch the blow by stumbling along with it. The ninja saw his opening and went for the knockout. He spun and stuck out his foot, intent on getting the roundhouse to connect with Corvus' temple, pretty much knocking him unconscious in one smashing blow.

Corvus however, ducked and avoided the blow completely, bringing the ninja off balance. Like a coiled viper he struck, a clenched fist heading for the solar plexus. He connected without a single deflection. The ninja fell back gasping for air. But there was something else that he had noticed after the punch. His hand had grazed something decidedly not male. Two inflated spheres protruded out of his enemy's chest.

And just like that, the red faded back into a pair of large, doe eyes. Chuck stumbled backwards in alarm, blurting. "You're a woman!"

The ninja glanced at Chuck sideways before launching into another assault. Chuck was still dazed by the revelation that his attacker was female and he couldn't do anything about the blur that was formerly the ninja. He felt his legs being swept from under him before a devastating kick to the solar plexus caused him to fly backward. Before losing any sense of coherency, he felt his elbow connecting with the jaw of Morgan who got knocked unconscious before Chuck fell to the ground gasping for air. He felt a painful sting in his back and noticed that he had landed on his PC which was totally and utterly destroyed. He groaned in defeat and let his head fall down to the floor. He saw the ninja running out of the apartment. At least she was gone.

It took a couple of minutes, but eventually Chuck was able to regain a semblance of control. His breathing slowed down and while the throbbing got progressively worse, he felt that he could actually move again. He sat up and went to check on Morgan. He was still out cold, but it didn't seem like anything was broken. He would probably have a killer headache. The Sizzling Shrimp remained somewhat intact though.

_ There's always a silver lining._

He gingerly crawled up to his feet and started gathering the food that had strewn across the apartment. It wouldn't do for Ellie and Devon to come home to this. He had just placed the food on the table when he heard Morgan groan. "What the hell just happened?"

"I don't know," Chuck lied. He had an inkling of what might've caused a ninja to appear in their house.

"Dude, how are you not freaked out about this?" Morgan asked. "There was a freaking ninja assassin in your apartment! Aren't you scared that they might come back?"

That was a stupid question. Why ask somebody devoid of feeling whether he was afraid. He was fearless. But confused as well.

"No," Chuck shook his head. "She won't be coming back; I think I scared her off."

Morgan's eyes went wide. "Wait a minute, did you say she? Dude, a girl just kicked your ass."

"She…did not…how do you mean she kicked my ass?" Chuck snapped angrily. "The only reason she got a cheap shot was because I got distracted by the fact I was fighting said girl! If that didn't happen, I would've beaten her without question."

"Uh huh, sure." Said Morgan, the skepticism flavoring his speech.

"Whatever. Let's just eat." Chuck said before moving over to the table. He looked back on the living room that had turned into a makeshift warzone for the time being. He'd have a ball cleaning it all up.

There was one thing however, that was really bothering Chuck. In the past forty-eight hours, he had only learned of one woman who could moonlight as a ninja. Chuck didn't like the conclusion that he was drawing. The CIA was interested in Chuck Bartowski.

_ Oh boy_.

* * *

><p>The next day proved to move excruciatingly slow. Chuck had decided that he procrastinated long enough. It was now time to get some answers from Agent Walker. He didn't want to constantly have to deal with random intrusions by ninjas or whatever else she'd have in store for him. He already spent his month's paycheck on getting replacement parts for his computer. The CIA was going to be in for a rude awakening if they didn't foot the bill.<p>

Chuck shook himself from his thoughts when a customer approached him at the counter. He felt his eyelids starting to flutter and prematurely cursed the oncoming headache. What the Intersect relayed to him in the flash consisted of detailed blueprints of bombs, reports of explosions all throughout Europe, and the passport of a certain Vuc Andric, known Serbian demolitions expert.

"Hi, and welcome to the Buy More," greeted Chuck, his tone delightful but suspicious. "How may I help you?"

"Good day," the Serb spoke with a heavy accent. "You sell Prism Express laptop, yes?"

Chuck nodded. "Yes."

"I would like one."

"Alright, let me just go out back and get one for you." As Chuck started towards the cage, his mind was spinning ways to get this guy alone for a private conversation. It was still broad daylight, but he could find a way to get the Serb back to Encino in one piece. That was until he took him apart, limb from limb. However, it seemed an impossible feat to accomplish. While he could easily stalk and deal with this terrorist, that'd mean Chuck would have to cancel the coffee date with Agent Walker. But there were more important things at stake. _Unless…_

He grabbed his phone and dialed Agent Walker's number. He was halfway at the cage when she picked up. "Hey Sarah, its Chuck. Hey, I got some time off now, how about we go for a quick lunch or something?"

"Yeah, that's perfect timing actually. Shall I pick you up?" She asked happily.

"Thanks, yeah, I'll be waiting out in the parking lot." Chuck smiled at his good fortune. "Meet you in five minutes?"

"Sure, I'll be there."

"See you then."

_ Now all I need to do is stall him until Agent Walker gets here and I can find out what his game is. And maybe after that, I can have another playmate._

Chuck felt the beast gradually stir from its brief period of hibernation. Sure, it'd only been two days since Jacob Williamson took his last breath, but maybe what Chuck really needed right now was to blow off some steam. Another opportunity to kill so soon might be just what the doctor ordered.

It took him a while to locate the correct laptop but when he found it, he briskly walked back to the center of the store. Timing was essential in this case. He saw the Serb impatiently scanning the crowd.

"I'm sorry for the long wait, sir." He lied convincingly. "Here's your brand new laptop. Hope you enjoy all those new features, and if you could please take it over to check-out that'd be just perfect."

The Serb nodded and walked off. Chuck threw down his pocket protector and darted to the front of the store, desperately scanning the lot trying to find Agent Walker. He found her leaning against her Porsche, her eyes fixated on the Buy More entrance. Chuck approached her, the Serb walking in his trail with the laptop clutched to his chest.

He waved to Agent Walker and she reciprocated the gesture, a smile ghosting on her lips. "Nice car," he remarked.

"Thanks, it's my favorite. A Porsche 911," she said, patting the car lovingly.

"It's beautiful," Chuck said. That wasn't a lie, but a honest observation. He may have not been the biggest of car enthusiasts, but he could recognize a gorgeous car when it was in front of him. "Hey, I know of a great place. Why don't you drive and I'll give you directions?"

"I was going to drive anyway," she replied, smirking.

There was something about that devilish gleam in her eye that roused something foreign inside of Chuck. He had no time to contemplate what it was, and so he joined her in the car. Agent Walker turned the key in its ignition and Chuck's seat started vibrating comfortably. She revved the engine once, then twice. It growled violently, reminding him of his darker half. Restless and starving. It was just scratching away at his insides. It demanded freedom. Agent Walker peeled out of the parking lot at incredible, but reckless speed. Meanwhile Chuck began directing her along, all the while making casual small-talk.

He asked first. "So Sarah, what is it you do?"

Her eyes focused on the road ahead, replying offhandedly. "Actually, I'm kind of in-between jobs. I just moved here from DC."

Chuck raised a brow. "Bad memories?"

"You could say that. More like a bad breakup."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that… turn left here."

"It's okay," she gave a noncommittal shrug. "I never really thought that the relationship was going anywhere. But everything in that city just reminded me of him, so I had to get out of there." She sighed and glanced at Chuck. "What about you? Any bad breakups?"

He smiled lopsidedly, answering. "There is one, but I'm ordered under the penalty of a kick to the shin to not speak of it."

Agent Walker's eyes sparkled with mirth. "A kick to the shin huh? That sounds brutal."

"I know, mostly because Ellie, that's my sister, got Captain Awesome to be the one to kick me if I do end up breaking my vow. He used to be the tight end for UCLA."

"Captain Awesome?"

"Oh, yeah, my bad," Chuck apologized hastily. "That's what we call him. It's because everything that he does… turn right, there… is simply awesome. White water rafting, rock climbing, surgery, clipping his nails, breathing…"

Agent Walker's laugh came easy. Chuck found himself to enjoying it, the sound of her honest-to-god laughter. It was a wholly different sort of sound he was used to hearing. Not the usual plea, or bloodcurdling scream. It was just...nice. Realizing this had startled him greatly.

_ Uh oh._

He forced his mind elsewhere. Back to the objective at hand. The car that Chuck was tailing turned left and came to an abrupt stop in front of a hotel. He squinted to read the name of the resort, flashing as he did so. His eyes widened to the size of saucers. The Serb was going to blow up the room where General Stanfield would give his speech that night. Chuck knew it was time to let up the façade and lay all the cards on the table.

_ Doesn't mean I can't have some fun with it..._

"So Sarah," Chuck shifted in the leather seat. "How's your chest?"

"What?" Sarah nearly shouted, stomping on the breaks. The Porsche jerked forward before skidding in front of the next four-way intersection. The force of the stop had left Chuck breathless, the seatbelt bruising his ribs as every wisp of air left his lungs.

At the red light, Sarah shot him a dangerous glare.

He actually withered under her scrutiny. Collecting himself, Chuck explained in his haste. "Oh crap, that's not at all what I meant. I mean, I wanted to know... because I hit you pretty hard last night... oh man, this sounded better in my head."

Sarah's eyes diverted back on the road, but he saw her pupils dilate. It was impressive to not get a reaction to a bomb like that being dropped on you. Still, Chuck couldn't help but add, "The CIA owes me a new computer, by the way. Where can I hand in the bill?"

She said evenly. "How did you know?"

"Please Agent Walker," answered Chuck. "The reason I knew is the same reason that you came down here, isn't it? Bryce Larkin has access to the Intersect and you guys are bending over backwards trying to find out how."

Her mouth fell open a tiny bit before snapping shut. Chuck looked at her and it was obvious to him that she was weighing her options. Eventually, it seemed like she had made her decision. "So you're Bryce's accomplice…"

"What?" Chuck shouted, appalled. "What do you mean accomplice?"

"Bryce Larkin went rogue and stole the Intersect before sending it to you."

"What? I haven't spoken to Bryce for five years! He just sent me an e-mail with the Intersect attached to it. I didn't know that he was a spy!"

"Sure you… wait." She narrowed her eyes. "How did you even know about the Intersect in the first place?"

Chuck shrugged. "Don't freak out, but I'm kind of Orion's protégé."

"Orion?"

"Yeah, you know, Orion. The guy who created the Intersect? He told me all about it. I'm a computer geek, remember? And apparently, I now have one stuck in my brain."

She sighed. "And here I was thinking you were really just a nice guy."

"Hey!" Chuck said indignantly. "I'll have you know that I wasn't acting,"_Well, I sort of was, but you don't need to know that._"And better yet, I didn't try and deceive someone by making him think that I was interested in grabbing some coffee!"

Agent Walker pulled the car over and dragged a hand over her face. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? Now if you knew that I was a CIA agent, we didn't go here for lunch. So spill…"

Chuck huffed, explaining. "A Serbian demolition expert walked into the Buy More today and bought a Prism Express laptop, the same laptop that was used in several bombings throughout Eastern Europe. I had you follow him to the hotel behind us. That hotel is reserved for General Stanfield's speech tonight. So, a Serbian demolition expert is going to detonate a bomb during his speech, killing everyone in the room."

Her skin had turned a shade of pale white. "Are you sure?" she asked. Chuck nodded. "Alright, well we can't just run in, we'll have to do this the right way." The blond spy frantically looked around her trying to find a way to take out the Serb. Eventually she shrugged and turned 180 degrees. She raced down to the front entrance, crossing intersections at a scarily high speed.

Chuck looked to his left and saw a black SUV racing through a red light. In his mind he already knew that the SUV was going to hit them head on. "Fuck!" he managed to shout, before the Porsche was demolished by the SUV's grill.

* * *

><p>The airbags shot out and hit Chuck square in the face. He winced but didn't say a word. He looked to his left and saw Agent Walker with a deathly look in her eyes. Her prized car had just received a massive dent and she wasn't too pleased. Though it could still drive alright, and he was sure that the CIA would pay for the damage it'd sustained, Chuck suspected that it didn't matter to the blond dynamo.<p>

"Get out," she nearly growled. "I may have to point a gun at you, so just… don't freak out, okay?"

"Uh, could we maybe do without the guns?" He asked with honest fear in his voice. "I'm really not that big a gun person."

She looked at Chuck trying to find an answer to… something. Eventually, she nodded having seemingly found her answer. "I'll do my best." She stepped out of the totaled Porsche and started shouting. "Are you out of your mind Casey?"

Chuck peered out of the window to see an angry looking giant casually sitting on the hood of his SUV, caressing a pistol. He winced as the flash smacked him right between the eyes. Images of a Major John Casey, NSA. Marine Corps Scout Sniper, over sixty confirmed kills, did tours in Afghanistan and Iraq. By the very definition, he was an assassin.

_ He's just like me, but only with a licence to kill. Interesting..._

He stepped out of the car where Agent Walker was squaring off against Casey. "I really don't care what you have to say Walker; your boy over there is coming with us. The Intersect is property of the NSA."

"CIA gets him first!" she retorted.

"Really? Wasn't it Larkin who blew the damn thing up? And wasn't Larkin CIA? I'm pretty sure that negates any claims to the Intersect that the CIA thinks it has."

She held her ground. "It doesn't matter. I found him first, that means he goes to the CIA."

"I'm standing right here, you know?" Chuck waved his arms, adding. "My name is Chuck by the way."

"Shut up, Chuck," snapped Agent Walker.

"Shut up, moron," Casey growled at the same time.

"Shutting up," Chuck sighed.

"Well, CIA. What are you going to do about it?"

At once, Agent Walker whipped her gun towards Chuck, aiming at his forehead. "Whatever I have to do to make sure that the NSA doesn't get him."

"Sarah… Sarah, seriously put the gun away." Chuck was starting to freak out. His ears filled with the noise of that awful dripping sound. He could almost feel the blood of his mother on his face. His hands started to shake.

"Sorry Chuck can't do that," she said, her eyes fixated on Casey. "You're too valuable to be handed to the NSA who will treat you like a walking computer."

"Sarah!" Chuck shouted before it all became too much, and he suddenly collapsed to the pavement, reduced to a sobbing mess. He clutched his head, screaming as the images of his mother flitted in front of his sight. The gaping hole through her head a constant reminder to the horror that he had experienced in the desolated cell in Moscow. The thick blood dripping down her face, hitting the floor with a sickening sound. _Drip, drip, drip_. Chuck's vision started going blurry. He tried to forget, tried to forget that there was a muzzle being pointed at his head. Tried to forget that there was a room chockfull of people about to blown to bits by an insane Serb and his proclivity towards making bombs. All he wanted was the guns to go away.

"Chuck!" Walker yelled as she saw him writhing in the middle of the street. Pedestrians had stopped walking and people were getting out of their cars to see the spectacle. She stowed her pistol in the small of her back as she ran towards him, while Casey kept his eyes firmly on the wailing man. "Chuck, are you okay?"

"Please Sarah," he sobbed. "Please no guns."

Walker looked at Chuck in a panic, contemplating what to do. She did the only thing that came to her at that moment and sat down on the concrete. She grabbed Chuck's head and started cradling it, hoping it'd be enough to quell his frantic state.

The images slowly faded back to the recesses of his mind and he heard a calming voice speak to him, telling him that she had put away the gun and that he would be alright. He also found himself clinging to the source of the voice. _That'll leave a fantastic impression on her. _He shot back, out of the blond Agent's grasp, mortified with himself. He didn't want people seeing the real him so vulnerable, so defenseless. Sure, seeing him pretend to show fear was going to probably be a common occurrence, but this was too close… too real.

"I'm so sorry, Sarah. I didn't… I didn't know what I was thinking," he mumbled.

"It's okay," She said, features softening considerably. Her smile conveyed pity with a touch of sadness.

"Walker! Get the moron in the SUV, now!" Casey shouted. She glared at the larger man before she looked around and noticed the stares emanating from the public.

"Chuck, we have to go," She whispered, holding out her hand and hoisted him up. His knees were a bit wobbly from the after effects of his little public display of PTSD but he managed to get to the car without falling. He dragged himself in the backseat, before slumping against the leather clad seats.

"What the hell was that out there?" Casey asked as soon as he and the blond were in the car.

"No time Casey, there's a bomb in the hotel down the street from here. It's set to kill General Stanfield. If we're fast, we can take out the bomber."

"What? How do you know that?"

"Chuck told me."

"You mean the kid who just sobbed for a solid five minutes because there was a gun pointed at him? Why would you believe anything he says?"

"Casey!" She said in a very harsh tone. "Not everyone is like you and me, okay? Chuck received Bryce's email, but accidently saw the images. For all intents and purposes, he _is _the Intersect. So I'll believe everything he says within regards to national security." Casey remained stoic, with his eye on the road. "Alright, stop here. Chuck, stay in the car."

"What?" Chuck slurred. "No, no, I can't… I know… I know how to defuse the bomb."

"Just tell me."

"I… I can't, it involves overwriting the lock on the computer so I can access DOS which in turn allows me to access Internet so I can… you lost me didn't you?"

Walker gave him a blank stare and Casey looked annoyed. He exited the SUV and quickly rounded to the back; flinging the door open before yanking Chuck out and into the open. "You stay close to us. If anything happens, you make a dive for it, understood?"

Chuck wiggled himself out of the man's grasp. Being manhandled provoked him into a speedy recovery from his unfortunate breakdown. His eyes were bloodshot and dry as a bone. With newfound vigor, he snapped. "Or how about you shut up and follow me so I can make sure that we won't have to read over a hundred obituaries tomorrow?"

"Don't make me take out my gun, moron."

He amended. "…Sir?"

"Better. Now move it."

Chuck took off, running for the gold-framed doors. He yanked them open and started frantically looking for the Serb he had seen earlier. _If I was a mass murdering sociopath, which I totally am, what would I do? Orion would have me disappear in the crowd and… that's it._

"Look for anyone posing as a member of staff! He's probably going to try and smuggle the bomb in that way," Chuck said, his voice a commanding tone he honed so well.

"Since when are we taking orders from you?" Growled Casey. "Last I remember you were bawling your eyes out on a street."

Chuck sighed. "You're not going to let me live that down, are you?"

"If you're still alive and not locked up in some godforsaken hellhole? Yep."

Walker interjected. "Casey, he's right. How else would you smuggle a bomb in here?"

Chuck heard Casey muttering a reply, but he already lost his focus. The little tattoo on the inside of the wrist of the waiter that was wheeling in the cart caused Chuck to flash again. _It's him!_

"Sarah! That waiter, with the cart! I just flashed on him. That's the guy!"

Casey growled in delight and took off. "Keep the nerd safe! At least until I get back!" He ran past the fountain that was conveniently set up in the middle of the room. He came up close and barged shoulder first into the Serb. He released the cart that he was carrying and flew backwards, Casey jumping on top of him. A vicious punch to the Serb's face knocked him out. He grabbed a pair of plastic handcuffs and tied the Serb up. He took a hold of the cart and lifted the drape, revealing the bomb. "Alright Bartowski, you're up."

"You know my last name?"

"I read your file. Didn't explain why you were showing off just how tough you really were on the road a few minutes ago."

Chuck sighed again, and took off in a dash. He skidded to a halt in front of the bomb. "Alright, we've still got a few minutes left. This should work."

"_Should?_" Walker asked. "I thought you said you knew what you were doing."

"I do… I do… I just… I don't really know how much protection this guy put on here. It might take a while."

"You've got five minutes," Casey said.

"Gee, thanks Casey. I couldn't read the clock from right up here, hovering over it."

"Just shut up and get to work."

Chuck's hands flew over the keyboard. It only took him two minutes to get out of the bomb timer program and onto his desktop. "Alright, so now I just click… Oh hell!"

"What? What is it?" Walker asked, her voice betraying the fact that she was slightly panicking.

"He's got Internet Explorer! Seriously, we're in 2007. Everyone uses Firefox nowadays."

She frowned, confused. "Does it matter?"

"Well, no, not really, it'll just take a little longer to start up and I'll have to deal with a ton of pop-ups, but… type in _'Irene Demova' _and…"

"You're searching for _porn?_" Casey asked, the disbelief plain in his voice.

"Just… wait it out… Look, we go to this site and…" Multiple windows of the website popped up, the speakers on the laptop emitting metallic moans that had Chuck blushing. It took an excruciating seven seconds, but finally the hiss told him what he needed to know. "And now the power supply short-circuited and fried the motherboard. The bomb should be disarmed."

There was a long pause.

"Wow, Chuck… Just… wow," Agent Walker mumbled, speechless. "That was… that was brilliant."

He was inwardly gushing. His darker half feeding on her praise like it was a life force sustaining it. However, Chuck kept up the false pretense. "Thanks Sarah," he said with a faint blush.

"Glad you didn't get us all killed, moron."

"You're welcome Casey and thanks for all the support."

Casey grunted and walked away. _I bet he grunts a lot._

Chuck grinned and looked down at the bomb when a stroke of inspiration hit him. No, he was never afraid to die, well, not unless it involved guns anyway. Or needles. But he couldn't let this opportunity slide to cement his cover. "What if… what if I was wrong?"

"Chuck, you weren't."

"No, but what if I was… It would've blown up… and we would've all… and you… and Casey… and everyone… Oh God!"

He turned and stumbled to the door, a hidden smile grazing his face. He heard Agent Walker run after him, but he walked on ahead. He knew where he was going to go. The one spot that had always provided him a safe haven from everything and everyone. Even himself.

* * *

><p>Chuck loved the beach. He felt truly at peace there, content with just listening to the waves for a long while. His mind ran through everything that had happened in the past several days and he knew that he was in trouble. The government was interested in him, that much was clear. That probably meant that he'd either have to face bunker, being baby-sat by Agents or death by bullet to the head. Chuck shivered and it didn't have anything to do with the freezing wind that was quickly causing his skin to develop goose bumps.<p>

He forgot time as he kept listening to the tranquil sound of the surf crashing on the shore. It soothed him and it had often abated his dark urges. It was only a temporary solution of course, but it did help him keep things under control. Chuck was very aware of the fact that whatever option happened, he would find it very hard to keep his own routine going. For perhaps the first time in nearly five years, Chuck found himself cursing the name Bryce Larkin

_ If he hadn't sent me the Intersect, none of this would've happened._

He heard the crunching of sand beneath a pair of feet and it was an easy guess as to who came for him.

"How long have you been there?"

"Long enough to know that you've been here for a long time," The blond spy responded as she sat down.

Chuck gave a dramatic sigh. "Why did Bryce do this to me?"

"I don't… I don't know."

"Was he a good partner?"

"What? Oh, the Intersect… right…"

Chuck shook his head, smiling grimly. "Actually… no. Every time someone mentioned Bryce, you would get a brief look of disgust over your face and I figured he either cheated on you and you only just found out, or you and him were connected some other way. I just took a stab in the dark, is all."

She sighed. "Well, let's just say he betrayed me in more than one way."

Chuck nodded. Bryce Larkin and Sarah Walker. It wasn't hard to see the similarities. "I'm sorry." _Well that is a blatant lie._

"It's okay. I learned from it…" she said, trailing off and simply staring at the ocean.

Chuck waited for a suitable amount of minutes to let Agent Wa… Sarah deal with her own demons before his curiosity got the better of him. "So what's going to happen to me?"

"We're establishing contact with our superiors and ask for their instructions," answered Sarah. "I won't sugar coat it, you'll either get put in a bunker or terminated."

"Well, those two options don't seem very healthy. Especially because of my… uh… reaction to guns earlier today."

Sarah nodded. "That's why I'll be lobbying for a third one. Keep you where you are with a protection detail."

_ Crap! _Despite being the lesser of three evils, it still meant that Chuck would not be able to quench his thirst for vengeance for the foreseeable future. "Thanks, Sarah. I appreciate it… but why would you go through all that trouble?"

"Because… because I think you're a nice guy who doesn't deserve what's happening to you and I'll be damned if I let the government ruin yet another life."

_ If only you knew, age… Sarah. If only you knew._

"… Thank you, Sarah."

"You're welcome," she said, while smiling sweetly at him. She stood up and mimicked her actions from the day before by holding out her hand. Chuck grinned and took it. He patted himself off before walking to the Porsche.

"So where are we going?" he asked.

"Casey's hotel room," was all she said.

"Can I drive?" he asked with a teasing grin.

Sarah turned and eyed him carefully. She reached into her pocket and dangled the keys from her thumb and forefinger. Chuck tried to grab it, before Sarah yanked them away.

"Nice try, do you think I want _another _dent in my baby?" she remarked before slipping into the car. Chuck simply watched her for a moment, perplexed as to why she made his so called 'emotions' go haywire with just a simple glance or smile. He felt the darkness purr contentedly. There may have not been any death involved, but the thrill of preventing an international incident sufficed. With a sigh, Chuck sat in the passenger's seat. He changed one last glance at the shine on the ocean courtesy of the daunting full moon.

* * *

><p>Chuck sat propped up against the headboard of the bed. Sarah was giving her After Action report of the hotel.<p>

"…Mr. Bartowski proceeded to defuse the bomb in a way that we didn't even know was possible."

"So the Intersect works?" General Diane Beckman asked.

"Well, yes ma'am, but the Intersect only helped in locating the target. The bomb defusal was all thanks to Mr. Bartowski."

"Agent Walker, why did you feel it pertinent to have the Intersect close to a live bomb?" The CIA Director, Langston Graham inquired, the venom dripping from his inflection.

Sarah was unfazed. "Mr. Bartowski was the only one who could correctly identify the target. He was convinced that he knew how to defuse the bomb and since neither I nor Major Casey had any idea on how to proceed we figured that having the world's greatest intelligence asset at our side could only help in the long run."

"And what do you suggest is the course of action, Agent Walker?" Beckman prompted. "The NSA would love to have Mr. Bartowski in our possession and one way to achieve that would to have him go underground."

Chuck scowled, but a hand motion from Sarah stopped his verbal reply in its tracks. "I believe that the best way for Mr. Bartowski to operate would be by letting him live his life. I think that placing him underground would have adverse effects to the Intersect."

Beckman looked miffed, but didn't say anything. Graham however didn't seem to be convinced. "So what are you saying? That we place him under daily supervision?"

"Yes, sir. That is what I think will be the best for both parties in the long term."

"And you're telling me that one of the best spies the CIA has ever had is suited for a long term baby-sitting assignment?"

"Yes, sir."

"Major Casey, what do you think?" Graham asked. It was obvious he was displeased with his Agent's insubordination.

_ Give it a rest already, will you? She's not going to be changing her mind anytime soon._

Casey stood ramrod straight. "I think that Agent Walker's assumptions are correct. Mr. Bartowski has shown a remarkable amount of guts by defusing a live bomb. It would be very wise for us to consider taking him on as an unofficial analyst."

Chuck looked at Casey. _What the hell? Isn't he supposed to talk about how I had a freak out on a freaking intersection?_

Graham backed down, but the anger on his face was unmistakable. This would have consequences. Beckman spoke up though. "Major Casey, we both know of your… distaste for the CIA. Are you suggesting that we partner you with Agent Walker?"

"Ma'am, I follow orders," stated Casey. "If me being partnered with a CIA agent means that we can protect the free world, I'm more than happy to make that sacrifice."

Beckman looked thoughtful for a second. Chuck didn't know what he was rooting for more. Both roads led to one simple truth. Chuck couldn't kill anymore. Knowing this really bummed him out.

Finally, Beckman spoke up. "Very well, Agent Walker, Major Casey. We will leave Mr. Bartowski in Burbank for the time being. We will see how it goes, but I expect a report from every scrap of data that the Intersect gets. We will reconvene at a later time to discuss the various covers you will have to be employing. Is that understood?"

"Yes ma'am," Sarah and Casey both briskly replied.

"Very well then," Beckman said and she closed the video link.

Chuck looked to the bigger man. "Thanks Casey, I never thought you'd end up helping me out."

"Listen Bartowski," growled Casey. "You did a good job by defusing that bomb. Honestly though, I don't really care about you. As long as you don't screw up, we can be considered somewhat reluctant colleagues. But that's as far as we go. You got that?"

"Crystal." Chuck said dryly and threw off a crisp salute.

Casey grunted somewhat disinterested. "Now get the hell out of my room. I have a date with Walker."

"What?" Chuck and Sarah comically blurted out in unison. Terror was etched into both of their expressions.

Casey pulled out a bottle of Black Label. "Not you, Walker. Don't get your panties in a bunch." He twisted the cap off and poured himself a glass.

Chuck watched the burly man take a long sip of the liquor before slipping off the bed and heading towards the door. He was ready to bolt. "Alright, well, I'm beat. I'm going to go to bed. Mind if you drive me home, Sarah?"

_ And now I make my escape before either of them tries to call me out about—._

"Wait, there is one more thing I have to do, Chuck. It's important." Sarah turned towards the laptop and typed in a series of commands. The monitor suddenly displayed the two respected leaders of the United States government once again.

"Yes, Agent Walker?" Beckman said. Graham was still scowling.

Sarah said calmly. "Ma'am, in the interest of full disclosure, Mr. Bartowski had somewhat of a panic attack of sorts on the intersection closest to the hotel after having a gun pointed at him. I thought you should know this."

Chuck groaned. _Et tu, Sarah? _Still, his vocal protests didn't stop her and she kept her gaze on the laptop.

Beckman sighed before allowing Graham to come into the picture. His scowl had somewhat diminished. "In the interest of full disclosure, it is pertinent that you two know about Mr. Bartowski's youth. His mother was the famed spy, code named Frost."

Sarah gasped. Her eyes darted from Chuck and back to the screen. "Frost? She was a CIA legend!"

Graham nodded. "You are correct. She is still a legend now thanks to her ridiculously successful mission rate. She was killed in Moscow after trying to infiltrate a Russian arms conglomerate. Someone tipped off Volkoff and he had her killed. Charles Irving Bartowski was the bait they used to lure her to the cell that she was killed in. She died in front of his eyes, courtesy of a gunshot wound to the back of the head."

Chuck knew that he was supposed to pretend to be upset, but he didn't have the willpower exert any other emotion. What he felt now was exhaustion. That much was real. All he could do was to keep staring in front of him, an unreadable expression on his face.

Graham continued: "Mr. Bartowski was stuck in the cell with his dead mother in his arms for almost two full days. Reports are inconclusive on how he eventually escaped. Ever since that day, there hasn't been a single word uttered about that tragic mission. I'm sure Mr. Bartowski could confirm that after some psychiatric evaluations during his youth, he was diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. That could explain why he had his episode when a gun was being aimed at him."

Sarah looked crestfallen. "Thank you for the information, sir," she muttered before closing the connection. She looked at Chuck and he saw the pain that he had felt so often reflected in her eyes. He knew that in her own way, she was just as damaged as him.

"Oh Chuck," she muttered and shook her head.

He had trouble focusing his gaze elsewhere. Something stirred in his depths, but there was no way to identify what it was. It was a foreign sensation. An emotion maybe. Feeling. No matter the case, he knew exactly what caused the confusion, the pain and wonder all wrapped into one. It was her. The spy. Sarah Walker.

Chuck felt himself get sucked into her grey-blue eyes_. _Now, there was no escape._ What have I gotten myself into?_

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Oh, my god. That took forever. It's just past two in the am and I'm dying. There's bound to be mistakes, inconsistencies and whatever else you can spot. Believe me, they're there but I just don't care. This chapter was excruciatingly hard to write/edit/whatever for me. For some strange reason, rewriting the Pilot is just too demanding and repetitive. Nevertheless, I hope everyone enjoyed it. Next Chapter will pick up from where this left off. While Aerox and I will follow canon, we're going to take serious liberties. There will be no season 1, rather than a combination of 1 and 2.

Oh, and Aerox thought it'd be prudent to say that Chuck and Sarah are going to have relations. By relations, I mean sex. And by sex, I mean, not for a long time coming. But that doesn't mean Charah isn't going to be a huge factor. Because it totally is. Also, if you didn't already know, CS Lee plays both Harry Tang and Vince Masuka on Dexter. So that's why he was so perverted. Huhuhuhuhu.

See the button on the bottom of this page? Hit it and review please!


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N (aerox): **Happy day of Dexter everybody. It's Sunday which means that yet another epic episode of Dexter will air. Incidentally, it's also Chuxter day, which is our own day of festivities. In this case, we celebrate by posting a chapter and then slicing up a random guy that we picked up off the streets. After that, we watch Dexter and read the reviews so we can go to bed with a smile on our face. Shame our holiday is only once every x amount of weeks :(

On to more important matters though: Holy bejeezus, this chapter should be titled: "Watch aerox procrastinate for a month." The lateness of this chapter can be wholly blamed on me. First things first: this is only half of the original chapter three. But due to a sudden shift in the tone of this chapter, we thought it better to cut this one in half. Does that mean that chapter 4 will be faster? Yeah. We don't know how much faster, but it definitely won't be a month. The way we see it, this is "book one" from our series aptly titled: "A Little Messed Up." We're still in the prologue section of said book but we'll be out of it by the next chapter. We hope you enjoy this chapter. Oh and just FYI, finish the entire chapter before reviewing ;)

As a final note: A lot of people seemed to be surprised that the CIA and NSA knew about Frost's death. The way we justified the decision for them knowing was simply due to the fact that at the time of her death, she was still a CIA agent and as such we deemed it logical for the CIA to know why their top agent suddenly wasn't responding to calls anymore. The reason that Sarah and Casey were told was because it directly correlated with their mission. Chuck freaked out and the bosses deemed it necessary for them to know why that was the case and that there was a chance it would happen again.

**DISCLAIMER: **Don't own Chuck, Dexter, Toyota or Subway. ShinyJayne19 got food poisoning off of Subway, so we don't want them anyway.

* * *

><p><strong>C<strong>huck didn't really know what to expect from the two spies, if anything at all. Their collective response to his little misadventure in Moscow as a child was a bit unnerving, even for him. It suddenly felt like six shades of Hell in the hotel room. Now he was very aware of how Agents Walker and Casey were currently staring at him, and how their initial impressions of him had changed at the drop of a hat. Sarah had been the first to voice her opinion, shaking her head while she gave him the strangest, most pitying look he'd ever seen. Chuck still had difficulty shaking off her stormy gaze, as they'd yet to part from his. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't make himself leave.

Hindsight was always 20/20. If Chuck were to have known earlier that he was going to be stuck in an unwinnable situation like this, killing the feds opposite of him would've been a much more appealing idea rather than letting them live. Of course that would've meant the jig was up; he'd have to run and watch his back constantly. But at least he'd be free to fulfill those dark urges without prejudice or distractions.

_I made a huge mistake._

When the silence became too unbearable, Chuck decided it'd be wise to feign ignorance. Maybe it would buy him an excuse to avoid any further altercations incase either Sarah or Casey got too nosy about his traumatic childhood. Some things were better left in the past. Buried. Never to be spoken of again.

He shifted awkwardly on the balls of his shoes and asked, "What?"

Sarah hesitated. "How come you didn't...why didn't you tell us?" she asked, hurt evident by the slight waver in her voice.

_Because I was trying to avoid this very uncomfortable conversation, now quit staring at me like I'm some kind of lost puppy. _

His annoyance piqued. "Does it matter? I am who I am, and nobody can change my history. I've accepted what happened and moved on the best I could. So excuse me if I am in the wrong to assume how completely unnecessary it'd be for two complete strangers to know how fucked up my life is."

"But I—the CIA, could help you," she insisted. "We have some of the best psychiatrists in the field. I'm sure that I would be able to-"

Chuck held up his hand. "I appreciate the offer, I really do. But I already tried therapy, and I can assure you that I'm much better at dealing with my baggage on my own." _Nope. _"As long as there are less instances of where there's a gun pointed at my face, then I think I'll manage."

He watched Sarah undergo a variety of facial expressions; all passing by like the ripples on a lake. She finally settled on a peculiar scowl, and was about to retort when her eyes lost focus on Chuck, darting for the nightstand instead. There rested a copy of that day's newspaper. It was opened to the obituary section. A small clipping of Bryce Larkin was pictured alongside several other victims who had died in a recent bank robbery. Chuck had read the article earlier, but as usual, his emotions never registered.

Sarah however, was a different matter. She wordlessly brushed past him, making a swipe for the paper. In her shaky hands, she devoured the writing until Chuck saw her lips mouth what she'd been reading like it was impossible to believe. Her eyes were misting by the time she finished. She almost scrunched the paper in her grasp before stalking to the computer on the bed. Once again, she entered the now familiar code in the keyboard and waited. Her face displayed the same blank expression that Casey's did, but it was showing cracks at the edges. A vibration of the lips, a twitching nose. Agent Sarah Walker was close to the breaking point. Chuck had to fight a smirk as he saw the telltale signs of emotional despair on her face.

The screen flared to life and the faces of Director Graham and General Beckman appeared respectively. Like they hadn't moved an inch since they disconnected earlier. _Do they seriously just sit in the same position the entire time on the off chance that one of their agents try and call in?_

"Yes, Agent Walker?"

Chuck was impressed by how well she could keep composure. "With all due respect, Sir. Why was I not informed of Bryce's passing?"

The Director sighed. "Agent Walker, your fraternization with Agent Larkin made you the perfect candidate to retrace his steps. You knew how he thought. But we were also well aware of the fact that the knowledge of his passing may have had adverse effects on your mental health. That's why we chose to keep it quiet."

"I… see," she replied coolly, lip twitching into a forced smile. "Thank you for thinking about my feelings, Sir. That was a very kind thing to do." Her biting sarcasm nearly caused Chuck to burst into laughter.

"Agent Walker, we tried to keep this from you for your own good. You have to understand that…"

"Thank you, Sir," Sarah said again, closing the connection without a proper farewell. She quickly turned away and started absentmindedly nibbling at her nails, trying to keep the tears at bay.

Chuck was bored by her sudden vulnerability and slightly unsettled as well. He much rather be in the presence of Sarah when she was feisty. He liked the fire. It awakened something sinister within him. And to vicariously feed off her anger was as close as he'd probably get to actually being able to kill somebody these days.

Unlike him, Casey seemed to be enjoying his partner's anguish a bit too much. Chuck feared and yet anticipated with glee for what would surely come next. He could already feel the beast in his belly squirm and tear its claws against his insides. It wanted blood. Or whatever could come close to it.

"For what it's worth, I enjoyed shooting the traitor," smirked Casey. He raised the cup of liquor to his lips and gave a Sarah a polite nod before taking a sip.

_Thank you for poking the bear, Major. _It was obviously the wrong thing to say, but what could you do? Casey apparently did not care and neither did Chuck. _And I keep thinking that I'm the tactless one. _

Sarah swiveled around, her eyes blazing with a raging fire. Chuck was enraptured with the way that every part of her body seemed to tense up, poised to strike. "It. Was. You?" she growled deathly low.

Casey remained smug. His look was downright infuriating. It was practically asking for Sarah to pummel it to mush. If the roles were switched, Chuck would've done a lot worse if he ever came face-to-face with the man who murdered his mother. Sarah's self-restraint was disappointing. She marched to the table where Casey sat, and slapped the glass out of his hand. It hit the wall and shattered to millions of pieces. Before Casey could react, she sprung. Her knee was about to connect with his gut, but a fast deflection caused her attack to fail.

While the two seasoned agents proceeded to launch punches and kicks at each other, Chuck moved somewhere less in the way and more comfortable. He sat on the bed, suddenly wishing for a bag of popcorn. It was like being a spectator at a tennis match. But it was thankfully less boring and more violent. His eyes continuously kept track of the fluid movements of Sarah. He felt like he was watching a dancer as she spun around her axis, managing to land some good hits. Casey however was holding his own as well.

At the moment, he had the blonde spy in a tight embrace. Sarah squirmed for her release, and with a lucky head butt, she knocked them both into the wall, right into a picture frame. More glass rained to the floor while the brawl commenced. There was no real progression and Chuck tilted his head, frowning.

_Would it be weird if I just left?_

Bored again, he grabbed the newspaper Sarah had crumpled up. He flattened it out before idly flipping through the pages, the sound of the still raging fight echoing throughout the room. Chuck crossed his legs casually and turned to the sports section. _Are you kidding me? The Angels go the playoffs again, and the Dodgers lose out? _Grimacing, he folded the newspaper to the front page. Apparently, General Stanfield's speech was an enormous success. _It better have, it's not like I just saved his ass from being blown sky-high or anything. _

After skimming the rest of the article, a chilling thought came to him. Wasn't he supposed to break the two quarreling agents up? _What would be so wrong if one of them ended up dying? _He lifted his gaze from the paper to the now demolished room. It was like a tornado hit. He sighed miserably, standing up while calculating the risk of getting injured if he were to intervene. It was substantially high.

_The things I do to preserve my cover._

"Guys, stop!" Chuck shouted, before jumping in the middle. He held both arms outstretched like he was trying to part the Red Sea or something equally ridiculous. As expected, he was on the receiving end of a rather fierce punch from Sarah. Casey had taken a defensive stance so at least he didn't get double-teamed. He saw the look of shock on Sarah's face as she desperately tried to pull back. But the damage was already done. Chuck's chest caved and he collapsed onto the ground with a resounding thud. Wheezing, he faintly heard a gasp and then silence.

Chuck couldn't believe it. He'd been bested by Sarah Walker again. First from her surprise ninja attack and now this. Both times ended with a devastating punch to the same exact area. There was definitely going to be a bruise there tomorrow.

_At least they stopped._

"Look at what you've done, Walker… you hurt the asset," Casey deadpanned. He was barely panting despite the beating he withstood. Chuck squinted through his half-lidded gaze and caught the glare that Sarah was sending to the burly agent. He felt delightful shivers crawl beneath his skin.

_She's terrifying._

"Come on, Chuck. We're leaving." Sarah said between clenched teeth. It didn't take a genius to figure out that she was emotionally on edge, teetering on the edge of the black abyss that Chuck usually found so enticing. So he dutifully scrambled to his feet and ran after her as she headed for the door. Before leaving, he could hear a decidedly unhappy grunt come from Casey before the door slammed shut.

* * *

><p><em>I'm pretty sure that when I invariably end up going to hell, part of my eternal torture will be exactly like this car ride.<em>

The silence was deafening. Sarah was using the last of her efforts to not break down and it made for some amusing facial expressions. Her jaw was clenched and once or twice Chuck swore he had heard a sniffle, but he decided it'd be impolite to taunt her. So he stayed quiet. The only sound was that of the engine purring. Though Bryce's death wasn't the only elephant in the rather cramped sports car. Sarah and he had some unfinished business. He knew she was just _dying_ to ask him more about his youth. The empathy shining in her eyes was enough to draw that conclusion. Chuck appreciated that she was at least trying to be respectful after his rejection. Yet while it was kind of sad to keep her so emotionally invested, it was also sweet, delicious justice all the same.

The city zipped by the windows and Chuck boded his time. If it was up to him, not a single word would be spoken and he would simply dive into bed and get a decent night's rest. He actually started to think he might be right and he could simply sit back and enjoy the uncomfortable silence.

Of course, he'd been wrong before.

"I'm sorry for punching you," Sarah softly admitted.

"Don't worry about it," he said, waving her apology away.

"No, I should've noticed you. It was unprofessional and it won't happen again."

"Okay… thanks for the apology even though it's not necessary." He shifted in his seat and looked at Sarah again. He saw her chewing her lip, anxious to ask a question or make a comment, but was too afraid to invade his privacy again. At some point he figured she'd eventually crack. He saw her surreptitiously sneak a few glances but other than that, her full attention was on driving. That was fine with him.

"Where'd you learn to fight like that?"

_Wrong again. 0 for 2, Chuck? Pitiful..._

"How'd you mean?"

"In your apartment. When I tried to steal your computer…" Chuck still expected reparations for that, "and you started fighting me off. How did… where did you learn that?"

Chuck shrugged. "I've been doing martial arts since um, well you know. I wasn't exactly the most social kid since my mom passed away, so my dad had the brilliant idea of putting me on Jujitsu to try and let me connect again. His master plan to make me popular failed miserably for the most part, but I did enjoy doing it. And apparently I was pretty good at it too. Got my black belt in record time."

"Really?"

"Yeah, the sensei told my dad that he had never seen someone so focused on it like I was. I don't know, I guess I had a lot of pent-up anger to burn off."

The tension between them lifted and Sarah took the opportunity to ask, "How did your dad end up handling… everything? Finding out about your mother and the fact she was a spy?"

Chuck stared at her incredulously, saying, "Well, how do you think he handled things?" He was heartbroken, couldn't handle it anymore. Every time he looked at Ellie, he saw mom and every time he looked at me he remembered what happened to her. So when it became too much, he packed his bags and left. Let us fend for ourselves at the tender age of fifteen for Ellie and thirteen for me."

"I'm… I wasn't trying to imply…"

"No, it's… it's okay I guess. I just… I really don't like talking about it. Whatever happened, happened and it's not something that I can change no matter how much I want to."

Sarah nodded, her grip on the steering wheel tightening. "Do you hold yourself responsible?"

"What kind of a question is that?" Chuck said, agitatedly. "What could I have possibly done different? I was nine, Sarah. Short of getting killed myself, there wasn't a whole lot I could do, now was there?"

"Sorry," she trailed off.

Malevolence got the better of Chuck and he felt like smiling for how miserable he made Sarah. But he suppressed the urge and kept his cool, brooding facade. It did not fit with his cover to be senselessly cruel. Though considering just killing her and being done with it wasn't that great of an idea either. He figured the CIA wouldn't take too kindly to yet another one of their top agents biting the dust. So he kept the conversation going. "Don't worry, it's just… I really don't like talking about it. That's why I never told you or Casey about what happened. It's nothing to do with you, it's just something that's… tough to deal with, you know?"

"Yeah, I get what you mean," she replied and Chuck had no problem identifying the tone of melancholy in her voice. He had been right. She too, had suffered.

"How so?"

"It's… complicated."

"Oh-ho, that's not how this works. What, I'm supposed to be fine with you guys knowing everything there is to know about Chuck Bartowski, sad nerd by day, super computer by night, but I don't get to know about the two people to whom I entrust my life?"

"I know it's not fair, but this… Just like yours, my childhood wasn't the greatest and I've done some things that I'm not proud of."

"Like what?"

Chuck knew he was being unreasonable. But he fully embraced the notion of an eye for an eye. If they knew about his past, then it was only just that he knew about theirs. Despite the fact that Sarah clearly wasn't going to answer, a smile bloomed on her face. "You really don't give up easily, do you?"

Chuck shrugged once more, returning a smile purely for her benefit. "I'm a Bartowski. I'm pretty sure it's in our genes to be irrationally stubborn."

Sarah chuckled and Chuck instinctively knew that it signaled the end of their discussion. Just one more piece that didn't seem to fit anywhere in the puzzle that was Sarah Walker. He never did like puzzles, especially when they seemed to be incomplete.

The lights from the other cars zoomed by and the silence this time was a lot more bearable. There were still a lot of questions to be asked but Chuck was relieved that Sarah at least had found the common decency to leave him alone and not ask any more uncomfortable questions. Chuck, in return, had the same courtesy. They rolled up to the apartment at a tolerable speed of seventy miles an hour, but Chuck had already come to terms with the fact that Sarah liked things to be done fast. _That's probably why she hooked up with Bryce._ A quick snap of the hand-break and a rather impressive bit of steering later, he was deposited on the curb in front of his home.

"So… what do we… do? What's the proper etiquette for two people saying goodbye after getting some coffee, catching a Serbian demolitions expert, defusing a bomb with porn and being appointed government handlers, all the while trying to make his or her family believe that he was in fact out on a date?"

Sarah briefly contemplated it. "That's… a good question. A kiss would be too forward, but a hug would suffice, I suppose. But don't you think it's a bit too much? I mean, we're the only ones here and…" Chuck stopped her before she could finish.

Cheekily he said, "Ah, but you don't know my sister. She has somewhat of a 'Chuck sensor,' if you will. You probably don't see it, but she's watching our every move."

He saw Sarah gazing over his shoulder and her eyes widen. "I'll be damned," she muttered. Chuck had a victorious smirk on his face.

"So, a hug it is?"

"I guess."

She moved in and laid her head against his chest, before enveloping him in her arms. He in turn enclosed her in his arms, her head fitting neatly beneath his chin. She smelled delightfully of grapefruit. He gave her a quick squeeze and felt her returning the gesture, before releasing her. "Have a good night, Sarah."

"You too, Chuck."

She walked away and Chuck sighed, before turning and walking to his home, ready to face the onslaught that an excited Eleanor Bartowski would surely bring.

* * *

><p>The lone lamp that was hanging from the ceiling softly swayed like a pendulum when the rickety door flung open wide to reveal Chuck hauling an unconscious body inside<em>. What do they feed NSA agents these days? This guy must weigh a freaking ton...<em>

He continued dragging the body further into the shadows until reaching the center of the room where a surgical table resided. With no delay he pulled the man in a fireman's carry, and unceremoniously dumped him on the tabletop. Then the restraints came next. They were simple, but effective. Able to bind the strongest of his playthings without fail. There would be no movement. No chance of escape. Nothing but the happy gift of relief and liberation.

After securing and double checking his about-to-be _former _handler, he retraced his steps back out of the secluded shack and into the abyss. A shattering blast of lightening shredded the dark night and showed the Herder parked on the side of the dirt road. Chuck went to it quickly as a boom of thunder and another stroke of lightening came and went. He was very close now, clutching his car key in the air. And then he was lost in the black stillness. There was a sudden silence, a complete hush, as if nothing anywhere was breathing and even the darkness was holding its breath-

And there came an almighty rush of wind and a last hammer of thunder and the whole world cried out. The sky opened up and released its burden. All of the glowering clouds that had hid that pulsing swollen moon, parted. The slow trickle of light became a glimmering beam of celestial or demonic intent. It shone listlessly on Chuck, encouraging him to move faster. He obliged with a feral grin and unlocked the car in the sudden storm. The car's front door swung ajar and out came Agent Walker's limp form from the backseat. Chuck flipped her over his shoulder; kicked the door closed before trudging through the pouring rain back towards his safe haven.

Very soon she was prepared in the same manner as the Major. Chuck finished with the last straps before leaning back into his chair he'd set up just for the occasion. Time passed at reasonable pace, but it wasn't enough. He could not contain his excitement. His knee bounced over the other. His hands fidgeted. Even his dead heart raced away to oblivion. Finally when it all almost became too much, the two spies began to stir.

_Time for my play date._

The telltale grunt informed him that Major John Casey was the first to awaken. His eyelids fluttered until he came to full wakefulness. For a moment he laid still, feeling the tight unyielding Velcro straps holding him motionless and perhaps wondering why. Then he seemed to remember his training and put up his emotionless, fearless mask. Not long after and Sarah Walker also began to rouse to consciousness. Once Chuck was satisfied they were mostly alert, he nearly leapt from his chair.

"Welcome," he greeted cheerfully, "to my humble abode."

"Bartowski, I knew you were a goddamn freak!" growled Casey.

"Sticks and stones may break my bones, Major," he recited in a sing-song. "But knives are so much more pleasant. I'm pretty sure that's not exactly how it's supposed to go, but adaptability has always been one of my strong suits."

"Chuck," Sarah cried out. "Why are you doing this?"

He began casually circling the federal agents with the same predatory finesse as a shark. Idly playing with his gloved hands, he chuckled darkly and spoke up. "Well Agent Walker, it seems to me like you're asking for a motive. It's be awfully inconsiderate of me to not properly explain why you're about to die. You see, all of this happened because of Bryce Larkin. So if you're going to blame anybody, blame the dead.

I was pretty content with my life before the two of you came and screwed it up. Dad had it all figured out. Together, we'd get vengeance for my mom's murder, taking out those responsible and then be on our merry way. Instead, your boyfriend thought it'd be a fantastic idea to fuck with me not once, not twice, but _three_ times. He stole Jill—who wasn't much of a loss since she was purely for appearances' sake. He got me kicked out of Stanford and decided to make it a 'hat-trick' by sending me a stolen Intersect." Pausing, Chuck gauged the bewildered looks from his victims. He elaborated, "I'm sure you're both scratching your heads as to why I know so much about your government's top secret supercomputer, right? Maybe it'd make more sense if I were to let it slip that my dad already had an earlier version uploaded into my head long before the CIA's. It's an invaluable tool really; helping identify my enemies so I can avenge my mother as well as satisfy my thirst for blood."

Sarah's eyes had gradually widened throughout the entire confession. Casey however, remained stoic. Impassive. Neither spy dared to utter a word that could compromise them. Their training was impressive. Most of his playthings had been reduced to blubbering messes by now.

Casey calmly asked, "Why kill us?"

"Good question!" answered Chuck brightly. He clasped his hands together while concluding his short trek around the table. "My dad taught me a code. One of the basic principles behind it was to never kill an innocent person. However, it also said to never get caught either. The latter rule supersedes the former unfortunately. Which means that since I can't afford to be under Big Brother's scrutiny, I'll have to kill you two and then go off grid. Sure, it's a little bit more labor intensive, and I'll always be running...but the silver lining is that I will be free. From everything and everyone. Finally."

Chuck moved to where Sarah lay and hovered over her. Smiling, he spoke, "Did you ever think that with all the terrorists and assassins you were chasing, your end would come at the hand of someone you had sworn to protect? It's irony in its purest form, really." He rested his palm on her bare thigh and started slowly inching his way beneath her skirt.

This got an angry outburst from Casey. "So you're going to rape her before killing her?" he shouted. "I wouldn't expect anything less from a fucking creep like you, Bartowski!"

Chuck retracted his hands like it was on fire. "What? No, that's disgusting. I may be a monster, but I _do _have standards. I would never take advantage of the helpless...well not in that way at least." He resumed where he left off before the outcry; quickly sliding his fingers up her leg until he found what he'd been searching for. He unstrapped the holster and removed his hand. Agent Walker's cheeks were flushed scarlet and he briefly wondered why she'd be so embarrassed.

He carefully unsheathed the blade and twirled it skillfully between his nimble fingers. "I gotta hand it to you, Sarah; you have a great taste in knives." Walking to Casey, he added. "Since you never really made an effort to connect, you're not really worth my time. But seeing as I'm in a giving mood, I'll let you have your famous last words."

"Go to hell, Bartowski."

"And I will see you there, but hopefully not for a long, long time. Crossing my fingers," he remarked while making the gesture before jabbing the dagger's edge into the side of Casey's neck. With a violent tug, Chuck sliced across flesh and muscle effortlessly. The power behind it was so strong; he almost got carried away and decapitated the Major by accident.

"Oops," he mumbled apologetically. "Wow, sharp. I see you like to take good care of your equipment, Agent Walker." Casting a disarming smile, he was disappointed to find she'd turned her head to avoid the gruesome spectacle. Tears were flowing down her cheeks.

"Why?" she hoarsely whispered. "I trusted you."

Chuck shook his head, smile broadening. "Now, that wasn't very wise of you, was it? Why in the world would you trust somebody you hardly know?"

"I-Is there something you want?" Her desperation was music to his ears. "What do you want? Money? Amnesty? Sex?"

He tilted his head dubiously. "Seriously? You're propositioning to me?"

Sarah swallowed thickly. "If that's what you want. Most men wouldn't say no..."

"I'm not most men, Sarah," replied Chuck coolly. He bent over and traced the tip of the knife lightly over her face. "Especially not those pieces of shit that you've had to deal with. I would never stoop so low..."

The color drained from Sarah's face but she kept quiet. Chuck sighed. "Look, this isn't anything to do with you. You were really nice to me so I hate to be the bad guy, but I can't control my urges and well, I have a feeling it wouldn't end well for me if the CIA or NSA were to find out what I've been up to in my spare time. This isn't personal, just business."

He poised the bloodied knife over her chest, aligning it with her heart. "So, do you think you can one-up your ex-partner?"

Sarah had been looking at him directly in the eye when a wave of calming clarity swept over her. With a voice that didn't waver, she spoke in a hauntingly soft tone. "I'll save you, Chuck. If it's the last thing I do, I will save you from yourself..."

Chuck hesitated for all but a second, letting her words sink in. He hadn't faltered and the knife remained looming above Sarah like a guillotine ready to drop. Unbeknownst to him, his grip on the hilt was trembling ever so slightly.

He glanced down at her, stating coldly, "I don't need saving."

The knife fell with a whoosh and skewered her, the biting steel finding its mark with deadly precision. He watched in silent awe as the light left Sarah's eyes. She gasped, before falling limp indefinitely.

Chuck stood rooted to the floor, relishing as the beast imprisoned within him purred with content. He did it. He was finally free. Free from the oppression that his handlers had invariably brought down upon his life. He returned to that glorious status-quo. Now he would be able to finish what he started so long ago.

He stared at Sarah with a subdued grin flitting across his lips. Her blue eyes vacantly focused at him. _No hard feelings, right? _

Suddenly, her hands flew up and grabbed his in a deathlike grip. They held the hilt of the knife together. Chuck struggled to escape but could not find the strength to move. Blood trickling from her bluing lips, Sarah whispered, "Chuck...Chuck, are you ok?"

He panicked. "No, no, no, this isn't real! I killed you! I watched you die! How are you still alive?"

"Hello? Earth to Chuck."

The shack receded into the depth of his mind and Chuck zoned back into reality. He was standing behind the Nerd Herd desk, his CIA handler Sarah Walker, who was still very much alive, eyed him with uncertainty and concern. His nose was once again filled with the smell of grapefruit, courtesy of their close proximity to one another.

"Huh, what?" He blinked furiously. "I'm back. Sorry, just had a daydream."

"Must've been a good one, you were grinning for at least five minutes."

"You've been here for five minutes?"

Sarah nodded. "Yeah, I actually got quite worried when you didn't seem to respond to me. But I'm glad you've decided to return to the land of the living. Anyway, the Director and General have some information for us. We're being summoned to Casey's hotel room."

"Oh, alright. Hang on, let me just…" He picked up the off-site install sheet and quickly penned in some fake details, before walking around and joining up with Sarah. Together they walked out of the Buy More.

For the life of him, Chuck could not get rid of the horrific images from his mind. Both Sarah and Casey's corpses were not-so-neatly sprawled out on the surgical table. Their paling flesh contrasting beautifully with the blood as it split over the sides and _drip dripped _to the floor. And her eyes, empty, void of everything and filled with nothing. They would always stare at him, forever as a reminder of his guilty pleasure.

* * *

><p>The traffic was brutal as usual. Sarah was flabbergasted that the freeway was entirely backed up before noon. She hadn't anticipated that the lanes would be clogged in all directions; tagging on an extra half hour before reaching their destination. But that was Los Angeles for you. Chuck, of course, wasn't surprised. He didn't care about being late so there was no point of him warning her beforehand. What did it matter to him if the Director of the CIA and a four-star General decided to chew them out? As far as he was concerned, they only had authority above their agents. To him, they were but insignificant specks of dust. They could rant and rave until they were blue in the face, and yet it'd still only be a vain attempt to make him feel a shred of remorse.<p>

Eventually they arrived to the hotel. There was no reason to try and hurry, at least Chuck thought so. Sarah had other ideas. She rushed towards the elevator and almost pried it open in her haste. Chuck simply watched to his great amusement as she'd impatiently glance at the clock while tapping her foot on the tiled floor. Once inside the cramped space, she heaved a big sigh. The elevator began its ascent to its desired level. All the while Sarah became fixed with Chuck, sneaking looks of concern in his direction. She was obviously still troubled from when he'd been caught spacing out earlier that day.

"It's not like it happens often," he said.

At least ten people standing beside them whirled around when he broke the uncomfortable silence. He had knowingly broken the rule of refraining from social interaction while in the elevator. Again, the awkwardness did not appear to register. Even Sarah shot him a cautionary look.

"What?"

"The fact that I zoned out. It was a onetime thing, I promise."

_Or maybe not. It all depends on whether or not I'll be able to find a way to keep killing in peace. If I can't, well then daydreaming will be the least of my problems._

He mentally sulked at the thought of reforming himself. Abstinence didn't sound remotely appetizing. In fact, it sounded horrible. His dark companion crawled restlessly inside of him as a result of the uncomfortable news. It howled, frustrated. Chuck had to close his eyes to combat the overwhelming urge writhing from within.

Chuck had collected himself by the time they had reached the top level. The elevator bells chimed to signal their arrival. Wordlessly, they walked into Casey's room. The first thing that Chuck and Sarah saw upon crossing the threshold was the scowling face of Director Graham filling up three quarters of the television's screen.

"Agent Walker and Mr. Bartowski. I'm glad to see you've decided to join us."

"Sorry, Sir." replied Sarah.

She nudged Chuck with her foot.

"Sorry...Sir." _Asshole._

The Director leaned back to reveal the petite General behind him. She too was wearing a scowl, albeit one that was less defined. "Now that everyone is accounted for, let's get straight to business. For the purpose of this assignment, we have decided on covers for all of you. Major Casey, you will be joining the Intersect as protection detail during his day job. You will pose as a sales clerk to keep an eye out on Mr. Bartowski. You will also be moving into the apartment that has just opened up across the Bartowski's. From there you will maintain visual, as well as video and audio surveillance on the asset's apartment.

Agent Walker, you will pose as the asset's girlfriend. We understand that you've used this angle to make initial contact and as such, we'd like for you to continue with it. Please note agents, that this is an extremely unusual way for the United States to conduct its business. We are taking a huge risk by not placing the asset underground. You will have to prove to us that you are capable of keeping him safe. Furthermore, Agent Walker, we will update you on your new cover job in a few days. We're sorting out the contract for your new employer as we speak."

Chuck set his jaw. _The United States government is going to actually be babysitting me. This is not good._

Like in the elevator moments ago, the darkness had returned from its brief respite with a vengeance. It almost stole his breath away. He felt an uncontrollable anger surge through him, setting his senses ablaze. He unconsciously clenched his hands into fists; fingernails biting into his palm as he tried to not attract suspicion. His darker half wanted to come out and play.

"Excuse me, but how exactly is that a believable cover for Sarah?" Chuck had to bite his tongue before his harsh tone turned into violent action. _Not good. Not good at all. _But he couldn't stop himself. Corvus was at the helm now. "Have you seen her? Have you seen me? How are people ever going to believe that we're dating? Aren't covers supposed to make sense? And furthermore..." _I don't want her anywhere near me. When people get close, they end up in a body bag. _"I can't believe that you're forcing her to act as my girlfriend. What if she wanted to enter a relationship with someone else? Would the fact that she's supposedly with me overcomplicate things?"

"You're right, Mr. Bartowski. That would indeed overcomplicate things…" Graham started in a condescending tone, but Chuck spoke over him.

"Well then, can't she pose as a new friend or something? I have a few of those, a few more wouldn't hurt! Plus, I mean, that would be more believable than dating."

"If you hadn't interrupted," Graham cut in once again, "you would've found that it's strictly against protocol for agents to be dating outside of the Agency. So no, it won't be inconvenient, mainly because there is nothing to _make_ it inconvenient. Now, if that's all?"

Before Chuck could throw up another objection, the two leaders of the respective Intelligence agencies disappeared from the screen. Shaking with something akin to rage or fear bound to desperation, he turned to Sarah and said with a decidedly fake, yet very convincing voice: "I'm so sorry that they put you up to this, you have to know that I don't want to force you into something and I…"

"Can it, Bartowski," Casey sneered. "This is what we do. If that means that Walker here has to pose as your girlfriend then so be it. Besides, she probably likes it anyway. If it was up to me, you'd be saying hello to four padded walls right about now."

Sarah once again glared at Casey, her laser-like anger promising death and decay for the NSA agent. Chuck couldn't help but be transfixed by the anger in her cobalt eyes. It was… familiar. Recognizable. She turned to Chuck and her eyes softened noticeably. "Don't worry about it, Chuck. I highly doubt that I would want to enter a relationship at this point in time."

_Right, Bryce. The wound is still fresh for her. She should really get over it._

"Okay, just… the last thing I want to do is make things uncomfortable for you. Besides, I have an aversion to PDA anyway and most people know about it, so we don't have to do all those kinds of things in front of other people. We can keep it low-key."

"Thank you for worrying about me, Chuck but I've been doing this for quite some time. I'm pretty sure I can handle myself," she said with a grin.

"That's great; you two go ahead and discuss how you'd like to mix condiments in the privacy of your own homes or something. I've got more important things to do." Casey's eyes flicked to the table, where a disassembled M4 carbine lay, along with a cleaning kit.

"Cleaning guns?"

"It's cathartic. Either that or I play a game I'd like to call Whack-an-Asset. Which would you prefer?"

"Good luck cleaning your guns, Major," Chuck said, before grabbing Sarah's hand and bolting for the door. When they were safely outside he released it like it was on fire. "Sorry about that. It just didn't seem like a good idea to be seriously injured on the first day at my new job and he seems like the kind of guy that has his calm center replaced by an angry one."

Sarah chuckled. "Don't worry about it, Chuck. I would've protected you from him. That's _my_ job."

"Fair point. So, I suppose that we're now dating. You do know what that means huh?"

She arched an eyebrow. "What exactly _does_ that mean?"

He grinned. "Bartowski movie night. I'm sorry, there's no way around it. My sister is re-lent-less. The moment she finds out that you and I are dating, she'll be on you like white on rice."

Sarah heaved a relieved sigh, which Chuck found odd but she didn't give him time to question her little action. Instead, she grinned back at him and said, "I'm sure I could suffer through it."

"Excellent."

Chuck may have temporarily quelled the darkness, but he didn't know how long it'd last. For now, the beast returned to its slumber and Corvus' little stunt became a thing of the past. All that remained was his growing curiosity for the woman standing before him, and the troubled musings of how to keep his unusual burden contained.

* * *

><p>A week had passed since that fateful day when Bryce Larkin had effectively ruined Chuck's life—again. While he blamed his former roommate for his expulsion from Stanford, it was more of an inconvenience than anything else. He was upset, sure. Who <em>wouldn't <em>harbor some hatred for the person who was solely responsible for framing you for a crime that you didn't commit (for once), as well as stealing your "girlfriend" in one fell swoop? It forced Chuck to don a new persona, one where he'd sulk for a while. And at some point, a while turned into a hell of a longer time than Chuck originally anticipated. Nevertheless, he played the sulking, self-deprecating nerd to a tee.

But now Bryce had struck again, from beyond the grave. His second attempt to destroy Chuck's precious little life was an unfortunate success. Of course he probably thought it was hilarious to mess with his ex-college buddy for one final hurrah. For old time's sake. So Chuck was stuck with the Intersect, and two highly skilled government handlers. Where one was trying to actually be nice to him, and the other who wasn't even making an attempt to be cordial. They had him under constant surveillance 24/7. If that wasn't bothersome enough, Chuck had to accept that Agent Walker was posing as his girlfriend. It got him thinking: what in the hell were they smoking in the Intelligence community? Did they not see the blatant physical differences between a woman who, had her CIA career not panned out, would've been a model posing on the covers of MAXIM or Esquire, and an average looking guy such as him? Despite their respective personalities, Chuck was well aware of how they appeared in public. There was no way people were going to buy them together as a couple.

_But then again, I'm clearly wrong half the time anyway._

Nobody (definitely not Chuck) could've predicted the sheer force of nature that became of Eleanor Faye Bartowski, the instant she saw her little brother walking up to the apartment with a woman by his side. He was pretty confident in the fact that if there was a zombie apocalypse anytime soon, he could record her high-pitched squeal and have all the undead and dogs in the greater LA area, running for the hills. Add to that the fact that apparently she was not in the least bit surprised to see Chuck with someone as aesthetically pleasing as Agent Walker. To her credit, Sarah stayed a consummate professional, which in this case meant hugging up against Chuck's arm with a brilliant smile on her face. The Intersect wasn't lying about her aptitude for going undercover almost effortlessly. _No wonder her marks in Seduction class were so ridiculously high._

Upon reaching the courtyard, Chuck watched with a wary eye as his sister practically dashed out of their apartment and came towards Sarah and him with a distinct spring in her step.

"Hey Ellie," he greeted.

"Chuck!" Ellie shouted. "Come in, come in," she told the faux-couple. Chuck looked at Sarah and gave her a helpless shrug before walking in. "So this is the 'Sarah' that you've been talking about."

"You've been talking about me?" Sarah asked, quirking an eyebrow.

Ellie cut in. "No, he's been understating you. Chuck," she said, hissing his name. "You've never told me she was this pretty."

"I thought you said that looks weren't everything," Chuck said dryly. He had to suppress a chuckle when he saw the slightly defeated look on his sister's face. While she might've been one of the few people he was still able to care for, that didn't mean that the brother-sister ribbing had to come to an end.

"Well, yeah, but...Oh, just shut up," she finally snapped with a grin.

Chuck heard Sarah stifle a chuckle next to him and he gave her another noncommittal shrug. They walked into the comfortable living room where the TV was showing the news. The audio had been turned down and Devon was strewn across the couch.

"Hey Devon, this is my… girlfriend… Sarah." He internally grimaced when he thought of Agent Walker in that way. How the hell was she taking this so well? _Must have a lot of experience with this kind of stuff. _

Devon lazily swung his legs off the couch, his hair looking disheveled and bags under his eyes. He still looked awesome. "Sarah," he said in a tone that was only a smidgen less enthusiastic than usual. "Awesome to meet you!"

"Told you," Chuck said as he nudged Sarah, who didn't try to contain her giggles.

"Hello Devon," Sarah said in a tone that was on yet another pitch and inflection than what he had heard from her so far. "It's nice to meet you." She stuck out her hand and Devon grabbed it, giving it a firm shake. Chuck watched the exchange, and realized that he still preferred the fiery Agent Walker. If he had to put a label on this particular version though, he'd probably go with domestic Agent Walker. If there even was such a thing. Her tone was soft and gentle and to the average onlooker, it would suggest that she was just a girlfriend that was somewhat bashful about meeting the family of the boyfriend. It was so convincing that even Chuck himself thought that it was real. But he shook those thoughts from his head. He could only imagine how uncomfortable this must've been for Agent Walker. Dropping her strong personality in favor of this… mask that she had been forced to wear. Chuck could easily relate. Sometimes he just wanted to let go of everything and be the man that he was. Or monster. Whichever. Of course, he was criminally insane and that was sort of frowned upon by society, but that didn't make the itch any less prevalent.

"So Sarah, what did you bring for us?" Ellie queried. Since this was the first time that Sarah mixed with the family, Ellie thought it a good idea for her to pick out the movie. To feel included. Sarah rummaged in her clutch and pulled out a DVD. Ellie gasped. "Is that…?"

"Yup," Sarah grinned. In her hands was the DVD of _Pretty Woman._

Chuck groaned.

"That's what you come up with?" he incredulously asked. _Fine, maybe Julia Roberts is delightful, but still._ He looked over and saw the same sardonic expression on Devon's face. The women however, looked positively gleeful.

"Excellent, Sarah! I can tell that Chuck made a good choice," she said with a grin, before turning around and putting the DVD in the player. She missed the apologetic look that Sarah shot to Chuck, or the confused one that Chuck was sure was plastered on his face. _What does she have to apologize for?_

It was roughly halfway through the movie, the characters of Richard Gere and Julia Roberts had just gone to a polo match, when something started gnawing at Chuck. Actually, it had been gnawing at him the whole time, but he only chose to recognize it at this point. He was _extremely_ uncomfortable with this. _I wonder how Ellie would react if I just slit Sarah's throat…_ Lovingly, he looked at Sarah's naked neck, the images of his vivid daydream from a few days ago still firmly imprinted on his mind's eye. Sarah, who had nestled into Chuck because of the cover, couldn't help but glance over to him. They made eye contact, which only further increased the awkward atmosphere according to Chuck.

Sarah crinkled her nose in a cute way, before burrowing herself in his side, her eyes fixed on the TV again. "Well done on keeping the cover intact," she whispered.

"Huh? What?" he asked, momentarily shaken from his thoughts, which involved blood, viscera and several of Sarah's intestines.

"The loving looks you've been sending in my direction. I never knew you bought into your cover so well,"

"Uh… sorry," he said while blushing. He saw Sarah eye him from the corner of her vision and smiling at his flustered look. _Bet you wouldn't smile if you knew _why _I was blushing._

"It's okay. Besides, I have to say, opposed to other missions I had to do, this is a walk in the park. So thanks for making it easy on me." He saw her glance to the side, before she whispered, "Quick, kiss me on top of my head."

"What?" he asked, slightly panicking. To go from having innate desires to kill the woman that had all but fused to you to showing forms of intimacy made Chuck's emotional compass do a quadruple take. "Why?"

"Because your sister is watching and she's seeing us murmuring. It'd be a great way to solidify the cover of boyfriend and girlfriend," she replied softly.

Chuck took a deep breath and dipped his chin to the crown of her head, letting his lips linger there for a split second before pulling back. The strong scent of grapefruit penetrated his nostrils and it intoxicated him for a split second. No longer were his thoughts focused on killing Agent Walker. Instead, he found them drifting back to the movie. His darker half had apparently lost its desire for blood. He knew it to be a brief respite, but the nagging voice in his head had quieted down and he fixed his attention back on the screen, content with getting a break from it all.

* * *

><p>The credits started rolling and by then, Chuck noticed the living room had gone quiet with the exception of the hum from the television. Sarah had found a comfortable position with her face nestled Chuck's neck. Her eyes slowly drooped closed and she began to doze off. Meanwhile Ellie stood up and yawned once before moving to eject the movie from the DVD player. The noise of the disk popping out was subtle, but enough to rouse everyone from their sleepy states. Chuck nudged Sarah gently and she woke up as well. He briefly admired the glazed over look in her eye. It reminded him strangely of his countless victims, and how they all stared up at him with the same drowsy expression before they eventually gave into the inevitable.<p>

"Guess it's that time again, huh?" he asked, trying to keep his own exhaustion out of his otherwise neutral tone. He watched his sister and Devon already looking earnest to retreat for their bedroom. Rolling his eyes, he added. "Anyway, since Sarah's car is in the shop, I'm going to drive her home. Don't wait up, you two."

Ellie smiled shyly, "We won't. Drive safe, little brother."

Devon winked. "Yeah, take your time bro."

Chuck chose to ignore that. He pushed up off the couch, helping Sarah to her feet like the caring boyfriend he supposedly was. A slight blush crept into her face as he rested a hand on the small of her back, wordlessly ushering them out of the apartment. Before reaching the door, they heard Captain Awesome murmur to Ellie. "First-date sex, awesome." Which caused Sarah to tense up; Chuck nearly crashing into her from behind.

"Oh, sorry Chuck," she mumbled, quickening her pace to the front door where she yanked it open, leaving him in the living room, still clutching the _Pretty Woman _DVD case.

"Sarah?" He tried to call out, but to no avail. Shrugging, he took off after her, leaving his sister and boyfriend to do...whatever it was that they did. He really didn't want to know nor think about it too deeply. They said that psychopaths didn't have any feelings, emotions. Which meant that he, being a psychopath, could stomach the vilest of things. But even if that were mostly true; Chuck had no intention of _ever _walking in on them or anyone else. It made him feel uncomfortable.

Chuck proceeded to chase the blonde spy through the courtyard. There, the apartment adjacent to his opened up to reveal John Casey. He was wearing a somewhat expensive looking bathrobe, clutching a glass of scotch and holding a cigar with his free hand. Chuck became rooted in place, deciding that he may never get used to having a spy live next door. He also had to remind himself that he didn't accidentally ask the Major whether or not he liked to wear a monocle and top hat to complete his strange ensemble.

Casey held up the hand with the cigar, beckoning them both inside his newly furnished place. "Get in here, we got a surprise meeting."

Chuck inwardly groaned but complied. He followed Sarah inside into the vacant entryway to find a rather impressive television screen set up; displaying the two leaders of the Intelligence community.

"Is this the only channel that you get on that thing, Casey?" asked Chuck with a smirk. "'Cause if so, I could probably install some new ones for you. I'll even throw in the 'special' channels, free of charge."

The growl actually scared him a little bit.

"If we're all done being the class clown, Mr. Bartowski, we'd like to start this meeting," the General asked. Despite her diminutive stature, her voice carried an edge that Chuck couldn't help but find impressive.

Chuck shrugged and he felt the sharp sting of a boot connecting with his shin. He looked to his left and saw a scarily intense expression adorning Sarah's face. Something had really startled her. Usually she wasn't wound up this tight. She nudged her head towards the monitor and Chuck finally caught on.

"Yes ma'am, all done. My apologies."

"Excellent," she said, the sarcasm dripping from the monitor. "The good news first, Mr. Bartowski. We'll soon be out of your hair."

_Wait, what? Did I just hear that right...?_

Chuck's face bloomed in a full blown smile. "Really?" he asked, unable to keep the hopeful tinge from coloring his voice.

"Yes, Chuck," the booming voice of Graham came. "We've found a doctor who works for the NSA, a Dr. Zarnow. He claims that he can remove the Intersect. Based on the facts and figures he presented to us, we believe him."

"That's great!" Chuck cried out. Sarah quirked an eyebrow, but didn't say anything. _Maybe I won't see body bags in your future, Agent Walker… or you Major Casey._

"We will be conducting the tests somewhere we have a distinct advantage. Obviously, for safety reasons, we cannot tell the doctor your identity, Mr. Bartowski, which rules out the Major's apartment," Beckman continued.

_Aw, they actually care about my well-being. I should probably send them a fruit basket. Or a body in a casket. Whichever comes first._

The General continued: "Therefore, we have decided to employ agent Walker's hotel room. You will be set up in the bathroom, where a locked door will separate you and the doctor from each other. After the tests, he will give his final recommendation before the procedure to remove the Intersect will commence."

"Wait, hold up. You said that he will give a recommendation. Does that mean that you're not sure if he can even do it?" Chuck felt the same painful feeling as before, as Sarah's boot retracted itself to a standing position. The woman seemed to have some sort of sensors that would target the same spot all the time. He wanted to rub the sore spot, but before he could, he'd had to add something to his previous statement. "ma'am?"

The tiny redhead sighed. "That's correct Mr. Bartowski. The Intersect isn't an exact science. A lot of it is built upon speculation. But we have the upmost faith in the doctor," she responded. It did little to appease Chuck, but at least they were working on a way of getting him out of the frustrating situation. So there was that.

"If those are all the questions, this meeting is over." The link was closed as per the usual, not really allowing a response from the newly minted Team Bartowski. Chuck felt it prudent to point out that he wasn't getting paid for any of this, despite being the titular member of the team. Apparently the government didn't believe in copyrights and registered trademarks. Such was life.

Casey grunted, walking off as he stated rather grumpily: "Make sure you close the door behind you when you get out." Chuck was itching to make a snarky comment, but before he could, the door had opened and closed already. Sarah had left without saying anything. Something was _definitely_ wrong. He walked to the door and opened it, letting it fall closed behind him. For no apparent reason besides his own growing curiosity, Chuck found himself speed-walking over to the Herder by the parking lot. Sarah was already sitting on the hood, nibbling at her nails. Her tell that she was emotionally on edge. He thought about how best to broach her sudden shift in moods, when it came to him.

"Hey Sarah, I got your… DVD… here." Chuck awkwardly trailed off as Sarah had a picture perfect representation of the thousand yard stare. He waved his hand in front of her eyes. _Did I look this ridiculous in the Buy More?_

The hand waving seemed to do the trick and she snapped out of whatever it was that had occupied her mind. She threw on a smile, but it failed to reach her eyes. "I had fun tonight," she said. Her voice had gone back to feisty-Sarah, but there were edges of emotional-Sarah thrown in the mix. Chuck was stumped. _Is she bipolar? _

"Yeah…" he said, slowly trailing off. "Is something the matter?"

"Why would you think that?" she asked, a smile grazing her face. It looked decidedly fake. Much less real than the ones that she had been sending his way ever since that day in the Buy More. Suddenly it dawned on him when he had noticed the change.

"Dunno," he admitted. "Something feels different about you. There's usually this…" He started snapping his fingers, trying to find the word. "Light, for lack of a better term, that's shining in your eyes. But ever since Awesome's comment, it's been gone. Poof. Disappeared."

"Don't worry about it," she hastily said before slipping into the Herder's passenger seat. Chuck sighed and walked to his side, not about to let the issue drop. While the fact that he probably wouldn't kill for a while -at least not until Zarnow had removed the Intersect- was a buzz kill, he had no intention of kicking it anytime soon. So he had to know whether or not he could trust his babysitters to make sure that didn't happen. He yanked open the door and blindly stabbed the key in the ignition, all the while keeping his eyes firmly on Agent Walker, looking for a sign in her body language that he could exploit getting her to talk. A small movement, the widening of her nostrils, was his in.

"Look, you're obviously upset about something. You know you can tell me, right?"

"I know, Chuck. But it's nothing."

He huffed and slapped the wheel with his palms. "I really like this status-quo we've got going on here A_gent Walker_," he remarked in a sarcastic tone. "I think it's amazing how when one of my protectors is annoyed or upset by something and I try to help him or her, he or she just retracts back in his or her shell… I'm supposed to be able to trust you. How can I trust you when you're keeping things from me?"

"It's none of your damn business, okay?" she snapped back.

"How is it not? Is it none of my damn business when I end up lying on a curb, bleeding to death because you lost your focus? Is it none of my damn business when I end up being caught and sold to the highest bidder? Surely Agent Walker, it _is_ in fact my damn business."

Sarah looked at him, the fire he so enjoyed watching smoldering within the pools of her eyes. "I'll walk myself home," she growled, before getting out of the car and walking away.

"Fuck!" he shouted, before getting out of the car himself. Hopefully, a little humor and a smidgen of the truth for him wanting to know, would entice her to share. He walked after her. "Sarah… Sarah wait. Look, I'm an asshole, I know. I just… just know I didn't want to make you feel hurt or something. It's just… please stop?" he asked as the speed that Sarah was walking away from the apartment complex increased. She acted as if she didn't hear him. He shrugged and started dashing towards her, his long legs easily eating the distance up. Despite not being in the greatest shape and the fact that his running form was atrocious, he managed to slide in front of her, before whirling around and grabbing both of her hands. He felt her tense up, but she did stop moving.

"It's tough for me, Sarah," he began his explanation. He was fully aware that at any moment, she could break free, judo chop him into oblivion and be on her merry way. He had actually estimated the chances of that happening in the high 60%. "I mean, I understand about wanting to keep things secret. I want that too. If it was up to me, you'd have never found out about how my childhood was. And now that you do, I feel… left out. How fair would it be if I knew intimate details about you, but I was a closed book? Because that's the situation that I'm in. And I didn't mean to be a jerk about it… it's just, things like these are really sensitive to me…" He saw the fire slowly losing its intensity, reduced to embers by the power of his babbling. "Besides, can't I as your legitimate cover boyfriend, learn things about you?" He waggled his eyebrows at her, which broke the dam and she burst out laughing.

"You're a goof, you know that?" she asked, still sniggering

He shrugged. "So I've been told."

She looked at him, a war raging inside her, contemplating between telling him and making a silly excuse. Chuck just held her gaze, giving her time, content to wait her out. Eventually, she sighed. "When I said that this mission was a walk in the park, I wasn't lying. I've had to do some… questionable things in my time with the Agency. Sometimes, female agents are sent on long term seduction missions, mostly to become acquainted with the mark in a familiar manner so that he will eventually reveal secrets to you or show where several key intelligence documents are. It's just that to really gain the trust of someone, sex is usually involved. I've always tried avoiding it, but there have been a few instances where I'd either blow my cover or had to give in. So when Devon made that comment, I couldn't help but… go back there… you know?"

Chuck did know. He had known for almost his entire life. Every time he'd close his eyes, he'd hear that awful dripping again. The soft splat as the drops of blood hit the floor and disintegrated, leaving a blooming red stain on the cold concrete in the cramped cell. Still, he let her vent. The darkness within him purred contentedly, having wrapped yet another person around his manipulative fingers. He had finally started to learn what kind of a person Agent Sarah Walker of the CIA truly was, something that he had tried ever since she had shot his first attempt down in the car, a week ago. But there was something else. An unfamiliar feeling that he hadn't felt since Stanford with Bryce. A kinship. He figured there was still more to Sarah's story, that he was barely scratching the surface of a mind that seemed as fucked up as his was. It struck Chuck as morbidly hilarious that they both ended up on other sides of the law.

"Oh God, you must think I'm some kind of whore now," she said, turning her head away in what was either an Emmy-award worthy version of guilt, shame and disgust. It was either that or the real deal. Softly, he grabbed her chin and turned her head to face him.

"I do not think that," Chuck said, the steel clear in his tone of voice, "at all." He released her and started walking back to the Herder. He stopped when he didn't hear her follow him; turning and saw her rooted to the spot. "Are you coming?"

Chuck saw her inner conflict arise again. Just as she began to reject his offer, Sarah sighed and nodded. The smile had reached her eyes again and his insides were waging a war on what emotion could be more prevalent. His darker half's or these new, unrecognizable ones. The darkness was winning, but Chuck was shocked to find out that it wasn't a complete domination. The small emotion that bubbled in his insides fought valiantly and was winning ground. He tried to shrug it off and got in his car, turned the key that was sat in the ignition. He waited for Sarah to catch up, who nestled herself in the passenger seat. He casted a tired smile and put the car into drive, pulling out into the street. The drive back to Sarah's hotel was peacefully quiet. The silence was welcomed for both passengers. While Chuck drove with his mind preoccupied, thinking hard, Sarah had already fallen fast asleep. Like with every monster, even spies needed their beauty rest too.

* * *

><p><strong>An2: <strong>Shinyjayne19 here, just wanted to stop by and ask if y'all are confused? Yes, no, maybe? Either way, Aerox and I are building a fandom fortress to keep all the haters out, because whatchu know about time jumps, red herrings, and the inner dialogues of a madman? All that was missing was bacon strips & bacon strip & bacon strips, and some Jack Daniels to top it off. Does this not make any sense to you? Well god I hope not, because we're sick and sleep deprived. We have problems. We also watch way too much Epic Meal Time. That's *caw* smart.

Next Time: Chuck gets knife-happy.

Confession Time: We had fun killing Sarah Walker 0_0


	4. AN

**A/N: **

Dear readers.

**WE TOLD YOU SO**.

Yes, Nat and I, we saw the potential of the Chuck cast in a Dexter scenario far before any other mortal. So we deserve full credit.

This is literally the only story idea that's stuck around whenever Nat and I discussed fics. We both really liked the premise, it was just a gargantuan task that would rival Fates in length which caused us to throw in the towel. But then, news broke.

So in case you missed it, Yvonne Strahovski has been picked up by Showtime to have a multi-episode arc in Dexter. And that's awesome. Because Dexter is awesome. So, to honor that, Nat and I decided that we'd dust this one off. We've thrown out the entire way we were going to write this (one continuous story of over 600.000 words) and are now approaching this like Greater, e.g.: Random one shots that serve as the story at various points in time. Of course, we will bring the main story to a satisfactory conclusion, we just have to figure that one out.

But, by this little update, we are promising we will start working on this story again. I'm not going to give a date for when a new chapter comes out, but rest assured, we will be working on it throughout the summer. Because we don't have lives. And that's good news for you. So have fun, and don't forget to tune into Dexter, whenever it decides to air again. We know we will ;)

* * *

><p>aerox and ShinyJayne (Natalie)<p> 


	5. AN 2

**A/N the second: **

Yet another A/N and we really didn't want to do it, but alas. This is a notification that we won't be updating this story after all.

Now before you all start fuming and raging, hear us out. We've reread the story a couple of times together (Nat and I) but we just weren't happy with some things that we liked when we wrote and published them. Sooooo, we've come together and are re-imagining the story from the ground up. We've taken the criticism that we've gotten throughout the first few chapters on board and are using it to hopefully craft a better story.

What does that mean? Well, it means that THIS story won't get updated. Born Under A Bad Sign however is still very much alive. We're much more enthusiastic about this new route and have begun planning the entire story already.

What else does it mean? It means that we're going to build an entire new world for our dear friend Chuxter. You see, we borrowed from canon for the original story... a lot. No more. We will still borrow some things, but the background of the Bartowski family, and their part in the Intelligence war will differ wildly. That doesn't mean we are going to say goodbye to Chuck as psychopath serial killer. Au contraire! He will be back in a big new role. But now, without silly plotholes or weird story sequences.

So if you don't want to miss us posting the first chapter, put us on author alert. We're sorry for continuously updating this with duds, but this is the last one. Promise.


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